Home Movies
by CaileeChaos
Summary: After Tony has an amnesia scare Clint thinks about what would happen if he lost his memories so he buys a camcorder with the hopes of making home videos so he'll never forget. But it turns out, Clint's kind've annoying when he's always videotaping the ones he loves. "No way! It's too early for this shit, Clint. You are not videotaping me before I brush my hair and teeth!" Clint/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, folks! I've decided to try my hand at an Avengers fic. This is just a little one-shot about Clint and a video camera and the trouble he gets into with it. It is a Clint/OC and hopefully you guys will like her as much as I do. **

**I've already got a few one-shots written with Clint and this same OC so, depending on reader's response, I may turn this into a full-fledge story. **

**As always, enjoy. **

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_January 13th, 2016_

The idea came to Clint on a long flight home from Kandahar after a mission had gone slightly awry. One stray hit from the Hulk and Tony's helmet got crushed around his skull. There was no lasting damage, aside from a mild concussion, but for the first five minutes after he regained consciousness he experienced a bit of amnesia. It caused a slight scare for everyone when Tasha asked if there was anything she could get for him and the Iron Man didn't automatically respond with something dirty.

"Tony, are you sure you're alright?" Clint asked, eyeing the older man wearily. Tony blinked up at him and cleared his throat, his dark stare darting around at their team, "I'm sorry, what? Who…who's Tony?"

Thor gave a barking laugh. "You are gaming with us, Metal Man."

"I don't think he's playing, Big Guy," murmured Natasha as she knelt beside the billionaire. She slipped a tiny flashlight out of her pocket and clicked it on. "Follow the light with your eyes. Do you know where you are?"

"Um…" he glanced at the destroyed streets of a Kandahar slum. "The set of Slumdog Millionaire?"

"Well, at least he's still got his humor," said Bruce as he approached, having put the other guy away. He rubbed a shaking hand over his face and through his hair as he shot his best friend a remorseful look, "Sorry about the helmet, Tony."

Tony shifted awkwardly on the ground. He asked Natasha, "I'm Tony, aren't I?"

"Anthony Edward Stark," affirmed Clint. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, as I hear you like to call yourself."

The team watched in concern as Tony's eyebrows drew together, "I sound like a real humble guy."

"You're not so bad most of the time," murmured Steve, eyeing his temporarily fallen comrade. The Captain extended a hand to the man in the iron suit and Tony hesitated only a second before accepting. Steve hauled Tony to his feet and clapped him on his iron shoulder. "Give it a minute. Everything will come back to you."

And like the Captain said, it did. Another five or so minutes passed and Tony sort of blinked and gave a disgusted frown, exclaiming, "My God, how could I forget myself? I'm awesome. You don't forget this level of awesome."

Clint smirked, "Apparently you do."

As far as incidents go, it was a minor blip on the radar but it got Clint thinking. Or, well, worrying. The Avengers' Quinjet leveled over the Pacific Ocean, preparing to land on the Helicarrier, and Clint couldn't help but stare at the white gold band on his left ring finger. He twirled the band around his finger and wondered what would happen to her if he lost his memory. What would happen to his wife if he forgot everything he ever knew? That night, after a debriefing aboard the Helicarrier, he'd said goodbye to his team and headed home to their apartment in New York, stopping by a Radio Shack on the way and buying a small handheld Nikon Camcorder.

It was just after three a.m. when we he turned the key in the lock and punched the security code on the pad beside their front door. He slipped inside silently, locking the door behind him and rearming the alarm. The house was quiet but he could hear the hum of the television coming from their room; she always fell asleep with the TV on. A small smile lifted the corners of his lips, his chest suddenly burning tight. He missed her. Deeply.

Clint figured this was the best part of marriage, coming home to a house where he knew she'd be waiting. No more long nights alone to ponder dark memories. No more nights bandaging his own wounds and suffering silently. It seemed his whole life Clint had been alone. Then he met Tasha. But the Russian spy wasn't exactly one for hand holding and that's not how they saw one another, anyhow. They were playmates, a damn good team of assassins. He was her mentor, she was his prodigy.

Dropping his bags in the kitchen, he moved through the living room, down the thin corridor, to their room. She was sprawled across their bed lying on her stomach on top of the sheets, her arms curled around the pillow beneath her head, her long, bare legs shining in the moonlight spilling in from the windows. Clint's chest tightened at the sight of her as he unzipped his jacket and slid the leather from his shoulders. He kicked off his boots, memorizing the way her hair spilled around her sun-kissed face. Crossing to the bed, he dropped to his knees beside her, bringing his hand up to slowly caress her cheek. She stirred slightly as he pushed the hair away from her face and leaned over to press a kiss to her temple. "Hey, baby girl."

"Clint?" Georgia blinked drowsily, lifting her head an inch off the pillow.

He grinned at her, brushing his thumb over her cheek, "Sorry to wake you."

"You better wake me," she warned, rising to throw her arms around him. The force of her body crashing into his sent them tumbling to the floor, a deep chuckle echoing in his throat. She trapped him beneath her arms on the hardwood floor, straddling his waist. He grinned up at her, reaching up to trail a finger down the side of her face, "Did you miss me?"

"As much as I always do," she replied, dipping her head to bring their lips together. She gently sucked in his bottom lip, tracing the edge with her tongue, his hands coming up to grip her waist. His touch was warm through her thin tank top and she shivered against him. "I'm glad you're home."

He trailed a hand up her back to cup her neck, fingers tangling in her long, dark hair, the other hand still firmly gripping her side. He nipped at her mouth impatiently, like she was the last drop of water in the desert and he was a thirsty man. "You and me, both," he hummed against her mouth. She was divine. And all his. That knowledge, and the glorious feeling of her in his arms, made Clint a very happy man.

He pushed against the floor, sitting up, his wife resting in his lap. She gave him an impish grin, fingers fisting his shirt. "How was the mission? Everybody get home safely?"

"Yeah, it was fine. Everybody's alright. But, uh," he sniggered. "Bruce gave Tony a nice little beating."

Georgia's eyes widened. "What?" she gasped, fighting a giggle. He shrugged, running his fingers through her hair, "It was nothing, really. But Tony kinda lost his mind for a second. He couldn't even remember who he was."

"Oh my God, Clint, that doesn't sound fine at all. He's okay, now, right? God, Pepper would die," she rambled.

"That reminds me," he suddenly grinned. Raising, he pulled her up with him and placed her on the edge of their bed. "I got you something. Er, well, I got _us_ something."

Her eyes sparkled, "A present? You know I love presents."

He retrieved the Radio Shack bag from the kitchen as Georgia searched the sheets for the remote and clicked off the television. She eyed the shopping bag. "Did you get me my own Comm device? That's cute."

Clint barked a laugh. "Not quite." He withdrew the Nikon and pulled it out of the box, tossing aside the instructions and wrappings. He put in the battery and set it up to charge, his wife's eyes following him all the while. "If I lost my memory, what would you do?"

Georgia's nose wrinkled. "Cry. A lot."

Again, he laughed, joining her on the bed. He pulled her against his chest, showering kisses into her hair and down her neck and over the top of her shoulder. "I'm serious, G. If I lost my memory, would you know what do to?"

"What could I do but try to make you remember?" she murmured, laying her hands on his. "I would show you pictures and tell you everything. Tell you how we met and how it took months for you to ask me out. I'd get Tasha to help you remember your past before me. We'd give you your bow and arrow, make you hold them, try to jar your memory…I don't know, that's what I'd do, I guess."

"Sounds like a solid plan," he confessed. "But I'm a naturally suspicious person. I wouldn't believe you easily."

"Oh, no doubt you'd be stubborn, alright."

"I'd need fact," he continued. "I would need solid proof."

"Thus the video camera? You want to make a bunch of home movies in case you lose your memory?"

"Hard to argue with video footage," he offered, but Georgia countered, "Footage can be tampered with."

"Tampering leaves traces."

She rolled her eyes, despite the half-smirk on her lips. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Are you just now figuring that out?"

"Oh, shut up," she swatted him, turning over in his arms. She pressed against him, hyperaware of every inch of his masculine body. As a single girl, Georgia had prided herself on not being shallow. She never dated someone based on physical appearance. Never. That wasn't what was important to her. She just wanted someone who could make her laugh, someone with intelligence and a good heart. The physical side of it never mattered to her. At least not until she met Clint. She tried not to notice, tried not to be just as attracted to his body as she was his personality. But, damn, how could she _not_ notice? Everything about his body screamed for attention – his strong, proud jaw; his broad shoulders; his chiseled, defined torso that tapered to a narrow waist; and then there were his eyes. Those big, beautiful, soul-staring eyes. How had she gotten so lucky?

"Oh, how I have missed you," she murmured, trailing her hands down his chest to grip the hem of his shirt. Slowly, she lifted the material over his head, tossing it aside. She frowned at the sight of a half-circle spatter of purple bruises across the left side of his ribs. "I thought it was an easy mission?"

His brow furrowed. He glanced down at the already forgotten bruise. "Oh," he grinned. "_That_. That actually happened before we left. Thor forgets his strength sometimes."

"Oh, you and your aggressive coworkers," Georgia mused lowering her lips to his. She kissed him tenderly, her fingertips playing over the light stubble on his jaw. He spoke against her mouth, "Yeah, I know…I need to shave."

"I don't know," she nipped his mouth playfully, the stubble tickling her chin. "I kinda like it."

Clint hummed happily as his wife slid over him, her delicate little body pressing into him in all the right places. He cupped her face, hips rising to meet hers. He savored the taste of her as their lips met, his tongue stroking the sensitive roof of her mouth. He stroked his fingers across her lower stomach where her tank top rode up, hands slipping under the flimsy shirt to splay across her skin. She suddenly pulled away and he watched her peel the shirt from her body, her pink, satin bra shining in the moonlight. She returned to him; her skin was so cold. Leaning up, he drew the covers over them, breaking their kiss to trail his mouth down over her collarbone. He drew an imaginary line over the swell of her right breast, his hot mouth retracing the path. He felt her fingers clench in his hair as he reached around and unclasped her bra. He tugged the straps from her shoulders with his teeth.

"Oh, Clint, if only you knew how happy I am to have you home," she whimpered when he drew a nipple into his mouth. He smiled against her breast, "I think I have some idea."

By the time they were finished with one another the sunlight was pouring in through the windows and the digital clock on their bedside table read seven-oh-three. They laid in a sweaty, tangled mess of sheets and skin, Georgia nuzzling her face into the crook of Clint's neck. His fingertips danced across her bare shoulders. "Are you hungry?"

Georgia grinned at him, "I'm always hungry."

"Why don't I make us some breakfast?" he offered, a plate full of bacon and French toast suddenly sounding mighty nice.

"I'll cook. You've got to be exhausted," Georgia spoke, her lips brushing his skin. "Why don't you rest while I get it ready? Feel like anything particular?"

Clint's hand traveled down her back and playfully smacked her butt. "I can name a few things."

Georgia laughed, propping up on her elbow. "You're so clever, Clint."

He gave a wolfish grin. "I try." His eyes followed her as she slipped from the bed to fish around the drawers of his dresser, eventually drawing out a gray tee shirt and a pair of navy boxers. She tugged the shirt over her head, her dark hair musing even further, and slipped one dainty leg after another into the boxers. Clint knew she was doing this for him; she knew he loved seeing her in his clothes. The sight of her in his clothes fed some primal, possessive part of him. Soothed some inner beast.

Georgia eyed the Nikon on the dresser. "Your camera's charged."

"Good."

He fiddled with the camcorder as she cooked breakfast. He tested the light settings, tested it for sound quality. It wasn't a bad camera, but it wasn't the best either. They ate on the terrace, the early morning sun warming their skin. When their plates were empty, Georgia gathered the dishes and set about cleaning the kitchen. Two firm arms caught her 'round the waist. "Leave it," he said softly against her ear, his breath hot against her.

"You don't have to tell me twice." She pulled her hands from the suds in the sink. Georgia hated doing the dishes.

"Do you feel like seeing a movie?" asked her husband.

"Do you?" she snorted. How was he not dragging the floor right now? Usually when Clint returned from a mission they'd make love for a few hours, maybe grab a bit to eat, and then he would crash, sleeping anywhere between eight to ten hours. "I mean, I'm not complaining but you're usually passing out right about now."

Clint shrugged. "I slept on way back from Kandahar. Long flight."

"A movie, huh? That new Leonardo DiCaprio movie is playing. The one with Tom Hardy and that guy from Inglorious Bastards. Smart…something…"

"Smart Guys," he told her. His wife shrugged, muttering, 'Whatever,' before informing him she was going to have to shower if they were going to a movie. He watched her go, his boxers and shirt falling to the hardwood floors in her wake leaving a trail to the shower. He grinned at her messiness. It was a nice contrast to his military neatness.

When he heard the shower running, he fetched the camera and grabbed a few photos off the wall unit in the living room. He double checked the battery and made sure the memory chip was correctly inserted, before rotating the screen and hitting record. He held the camcorder backwards, staring into the lens. "Your name is Clint Barton. You were born in Waverly, Iowa, and now live in New York City with a woman named Georgia Downes."

Clint held up one of the photos. "This is her. She's your wife and you love her very, very much." He looked at the picture in his hand. It was taken on Georgia's twenty-ninth birthday, long before they'd ever met. She was at a bar in Boston with a bunch of her friends from college and her younger sister, Allie. Georgia loved that photo; said it was the best picture she'd taken in years. Clint looked back at the camera. "There are a lot of things you should know about her, but namely, don't try to control her. Georgia is going to do what Georgia wants to do. You can try and protect her and advise her, but that's it. She's stubborn as hell and feisty when she wants to be. Guess that's why she and Tasha get along so well."

Clint placed Georgia's photo back on the table and picked up on of him and Natasha in Budapest. Her arm was slung around his shoulders and she was smirking at the camera; he was too busy assessing the damage down to his bow to bother with taking a picture. He held the this picture to the camera. "This is Natasha Romanoff – the best damn assassin the twenty-first century has ever seen. She's a damn smart kid and the closest thing you have to family. You and Tasha work for a government agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. along with a team of…well, of superheroes."

He snagged the next picture, a frame newspaper clipping Georgia found from the Manhattan incident. He held up the photo and named each member of their team, briefly describing their work thus far as the Avengers. When he was through, he sighed and looked at the camera. "This is your life. Don't forget it."

He turned off the camera and fell back into the couch. He felt a bit silly but saw the necessity in what he was doing. Clint knew he was just as valuable as any other member of the Avengers, but he and Tasha were only human. They weren't Gods like Thor or super soldiers like Steve. And they didn't have fancy suits of armor to protect them either. He and Natasha were always more exposed than the others, and that was a risk they willingly took. But that didn't mean he didn't recognize realities. They were simply at a higher level of danger than their teammates.

He heard the water cut off. Heard the soft patter of his wife's footsteps as she crossed their bathroom. He could hear her towel drying her hair, hear the soft lull of her voice as she sang to herself. Smiling, he snagged the camera off the coffee table.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Georgia groaned when Clint appeared, video camera in hand as she was brushing her teeth. "This is what you want to remember? Hey, babe, sorry you lost your memory, at least I've got good dental hygiene?"

The camcorder shook with his laughter and he zoomed in on her toothpaste covered lips. "I don't know what you're talking about. This is very sexy."

He zoomed out just in time to catch her eye roll. She shot him a dull stare, "I love you, but sometimes you worry me. Quite playing with the camera and go get dressed. We've got a movie to catch."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Georgia woke the following morning to soft kisses on her thigh. Purring contentedly, she rolled over and was met with the sight of her husband hovering over her, the taunt muscles of his back and shoulders rippling as he kissed his way up her body. Their lips met and she murmured nonsensical things against his mouth. "I love you," he told her, thriving at the way her breath hitched when he stroked between her legs.

"A good morning, indeed," she mused.

"I have a question for you," Clint told her, reaching across her for the camcorder on the nightstand. Georgia instantly groaned, rolling back over and burying her face in her pillow, "No way, no _way_! It's too early for this shit, Clint. You are not videotaping me before I brush my hair and teeth. No way."

"Oh, I've already got plenty of good footage of you," he grinned evilly. "You were making some very delicious moans in your sleep."

Her face flamed. "You did not," she growled into the pillow, her threatening voice muffled.

"I'm afraid I did."

"I'll kill you," she grumbled, before whining, "Please, Clint, put it away. Please!"

"I will as soon as you answer my question," he shifted the camcorder, zooming in on her. "What makes you happiest in the world?"

Georgia lifted her head to glare at him. "Are you serious?"

He grinned at her behind the camera. "Of course."

"What makes me happiest in the world?" she repeated his words. "Well you should know the answer to that…chocolate. Chocolate always makes me happy."

"Ha, ha."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was my answer not satisfactory to you?" she leaned against the pillows, coyly eyeing the camera. She hummed thoughtfully, crossing her legs and dangling one foot over the edge of the bed. Clint zoomed out a bit, camera trailing down her long, beautiful legs. "Um, excuse me, sir," she called to him. "My face is up here."

Chuckling, Clint pulled the focus back to her face and apologized. Georgia smiled at him, "Thank you. Now…what makes me happy…mhmm, Nicholas Sparks movies. I can't help it. I blame it on being a woman. They're my guilty pleasure."

"Not good enough," denied Clint. "Next."

"Oh!" her eyes sparkled. "The sound penguins make! They're so precious!"

"Are you joking? Do penguins even make noise?"

Georgia's eyes narrowed, "Of course they make noise. They're people, too, Clint."

"I'm sure," he rumbled dully. He allowed the camera to stray down her body. "I'm waiting…"

"What makes me happiest in the world," she repeated once more. "Mhmm…Flo from the Progressive car insurance commercials. I love her so much. She's always so happy. And she pulls off that red lipstick better than Taylor Swift, I swear."

"You're just pulling shit out of your ass now."

Georgia shrugged into her pile of pillows. "Perhaps…okay, fine. You want to know what makes me happiest in the world? The fact that the Backstreet Boys put out a new album this year. Hello!"

Clint erupted with laughter, nearly dropping the camcorder in the process. "Come on, G, I'm serious. Just, please, answer the question and I'll put it away. Promise."

She bit her lip, eyeing him suspiciously, "Okay, fine. You really wanna know? It's a boy."

Clint grinned, "A boy?"

"Well, not a boy, so much as that boy's happiness," she explained. Sitting up, she inched towards the camera, "See, there's this boy who…well, he lost his parents and brother really young and he didn't exactly have the best childhood. He's had a rough life and doesn't trust easy, you know? But by some miracle of the universe, he trusts me, let's me in and he lets me make him happy. That, Clint, is what makes me the happiest in the world."

The video long forgotten, he dropped the Nikon onto the mattress and kissed his wife. He kissed her hungrily with a passion he only knew with her. "You do make me happy, G. So happy."

"Ditto, babe," she murmured, abruptly ducking under his arm and grabbing the camcorder. She turned the lens on him. "Say cheese." When he groaned and tried to turn away, she leapt up, shouting, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you annoyed? Is this annoying? I can't imagine why."

He moved to roll away and off the bed but she always seemed to be two steps ahead of him and settled herself on his waist. "I don't think so," she warned, straddling him, the camcorder pointed at his face. She watched him squirm through the digital screen. Snickering, she told him, "You know, I kinda like this thing."

He shot her a droll stare. "Of course you do."

"Don't be sore, Clint. This is just a little payback. Now smile like a good boy and say you're sorry."

His brow furrowed. "What am I sorry for?"

"For waking me up with this thing in my face. Not nice."

"I'm sorry," he dutifully said.

"Now say…I wear pink underwear."

Clint's eyebrows rose. He glanced down at her lean waist. "Um, actually, babe, they're black."

"Don't say _I_ swear pink underwear, say _you_ do!"

"Okay," he muttered. "_You_ wear pink underwear."

"Oh my God, you're such a smartass," she growled, tossing aside the camcorder. She locked her fingers around his wrists and lowered her face to his. Barely an inch away from him, she asked, "I bet you think you're so funny, don't you?"

"I think I'm adorable," Clint drawled with a smile, his perfect, crooked smile, the one that wrinkled the corners of his mouth and showed the slight dimples in his cheeks. Georgia melted like butter at the sight of it, sighing, "You are adorable."

"I know," he continued grinning. He tugged at the hold on his wrists. "Gonna let me up any time soon?"

His wife shook her head slowly, "Uh, uh." She lowered her lips to his, capturing his bottom lip and tugging slightly. She drew her tongue across his lips, felt him pull against her hold on his wrists and felt his hips thrust upward, drying to draw her to him. But Georgia wouldn't have that. Making sure their bodies didn't touch, except for their lips and hands, she teasingly kissed the tip of his nose. "And what makes you the happiest in the world, Clint Barton?"

He answered with one, simple word, "You."

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**I **_really_** hope you liked it. Review, please! Let me know you guys would be interesting in turning this into a story. Thanks! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much **Not. So. Typical. Girl., Nessie sucks, country strong '89, Dasiygirl95, **and** snowangl05 **for your awesome reviews! And a major thanks, also, to those who favorited/followed this story! I'm so, so glad you guys like it and wanted to make it a story! **

**In a bit of contrast to the first chapter, I thought I'd show you guys what life was like **_before_** Clint bought the camcorder. Though this chapter isn't nearly as comical as the last, I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. **

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_August 31__st__, 2015_

The knock came early one Saturday morning, the urgent banging jolting Georgia from a very naughty dream involving Clint and a bottle of chocolate syrup. Half-asleep, she managed to pull on some pants and stumbled through her apartment, shouting, "Coming! Sorry, I'm coming! Christ, what time is it?"

She unlatched the locks on the door not a second before it swung open and a very frantic Natasha Romanoff barreled into the apartment. Georgia blinked, shutting the door and fiddling with the alarm. "Good morning to you, too. Please, won't you come in?"

Georgia watched with a frown as the Russian assassin did a loop around her living room, getting an odd chill at Tasha's resemblance to some feral predator locked in a cage. Like a tiger. Or panther. Georgia crossed her arms over her chest, "Tasha, what's wrong?"

Natasha abruptly spun on her, eyes sweeping over Georgia's disheveled frame as if she'd forgotten she was there. Tasha crossed to her swiftly, gripping Georgia by the upper arms. "I need you to listen to me very carefully, G. When was the last time you spoke to Clint?"

Georgia blinked, "Um, it was weeks ag-"

"How long exactly?"

"I don't kno-"

Natasha's grip on her arms steeled and she shook her violently, "How long, Georgia?!"

"Shit, I don't know. Months! Not since the end of May. Tasha, what's going on? You're scaring me. Where's Clint? Is he okay?" A powerful wave of fear seized Georgia's chest as the Russian's hands fell from her arms and a blank look consumed her. "Tasha, _where's_ Clint?"

Natasha blinked slowly, her chin quivering ever so slightly. "I'm so sorry, G…"

"Tasha," Georgia growled, her eyes suddenly stinging. "Answer me, now. Where is Clint?"

"We don't know."

Three little words and Georgia's world is sent spiraling out of orbit. Everything in the room began to spin and there came an abrupt pounding in her ears, her heart seemingly hammering away at her brain. What did she mean they didn't know? Where was her husband? And then Tasha was speaking again, "He dropped off the grid three months ago, stopped checking in, turned off his phone, threw away his tracker. At least that's their theory. We just found out this morning."

Georgia felt like she was going to vomit. Her shoulders began to shake, her torso convulsing as a sob tore through her. She stumbled forward, clenching the countertops to stay upright. Natasha was immediately at her side, one hand on her back, the other enclosing around Georgia's left hand. "Three _months_? He hasn't checked in for three fucking months and they're telling you _now_?"

"No," the Russian swiftly shook her head, red ringlets bouncing in place. "They didn't tell us shit. Tony and Bruce were doing some digging in the S.H.I.E.L.D. computer system and just happened to stumble on something suspicious. Next thing we know Tony's calling all of us, demanding that we meet him at headquarters, and then we're busting down the door to Fury's office…"

"Why wouldn't they tell you?! Someone could've been looking for him weeks ago!" shrieked Georgia, outraged. She clenched Natasha's hand, her fingers shaking. When she spoke, her words were pleading, a crying beg, "You have to get him back. Tasha, you-"

Her voice broke, a sob tearing from her lips. She cupped her mouth, gasping as a thousand and one awful scenarios raced through her mind, one after the other. Something terrible had happened to her husband and no one was doing a damn thing about it. "You have to bring him home to me, Natasha."

Natasha nodded, ardently blinking away the moisture rising in her eyes. "We will. The plane leaves in an hour. Look, until we have more information, we think it's best if you go stay at Stark Tower for a little while." She dug something out of her pocket, something small that she placed in Georgia's palm. "This is a cell phone that's program to receive and transmit calls from only one number. My number. If you hear anything, anything at all, G, you call me that second, okay? And I'll keep you updated."

Georgia nodded, holding the phone to her chest. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, sweetie. We'll handle it. You just keep that phone on you."

She struggled to breathe but managed a slight jerk of the head. "Okay…oh, God, Tasha, what if-"

"Don't. Don't think like that. He's coming back," Natasha declared. Her eyes misting, the Russian shook her head, not knowing if she was trying to convince Georgia or convince herself. "Clint's coming back. We're going to find him and bring him home ourselves."

Tasha squeezed Georgia's hand, pulling the older woman close and hugging her shoulders fiercely. "I promise I'll bring him back," she whispered, sniffing and then pulling away suddenly. Clearing her throat, she looked at the thin watch encasing her wrist, "Pepper should be here within the hour. She'll help you get some things together. I'll call soon."

"Tasha!" Georgia cried as the Russian pulled open the apartment door. She paused, but only for a second, as Georgia muttered, "Be careful." The door shut with a resounding _click_ behind her and Georgia's legs gave out. She slid down to the kitchen floor, awful, despairing cries clawing at her throat. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She just kept seeing Clint's face. The idea of him never coming back paralyzed her, seized her heart and lungs and mind, a foul hopelessness stirring in the pit of her stomach. He had to come back. Clint was her everything; he was her husband, her lover. He was her best friend. There was no way he couldn't come back to her.

She sat there, awkwardly curled in on herself on the cold kitchen floor, until her eyes burned dry, her cheeks and shirt soaked with tears. She sat there until her throat was sore, having been ravaged by such dreadful, agonizing screams. She sat there until Pepper Potts arrived and allowed herself in, saying nothing but crossing to where she sat, two slender arms slipping around her. And when she felt Pepper there, for a split second she had foolishly hoped it was Clint. And when she realized he was truly gone, Georgia cried some more.

Georgia became numb after a while, staring silently as Pepper packed her bags and murmured words she knew were meant to be comforting. Unfortunately, in spite of Pepper's good intentions, her reassurances fell on deaf ears. She can't exactly recall how but the next thing Georgia knew they were at Stark Tower and she was being settled into the guest room in Tony and Pepper's apartment. And then there was a drink in her hand and a sympathetic smile from Pepper as the glass was urged toward her lips.

The liquor burned her raw throat, her eyes stinging back to life. "This is so fucked up," she growled sometime later as she and Pepper curled up on the shag carpet in Stark's den, a pile of embers burning in the fire place and a bottle of scotch between them. "Who the fuck do they think they are? I get them not telling me, but not telling the team? No, you know, what? I _don't_ understand how they can't tell me. I'm his fucking wife and he's gone for three months! They don't think I need to know that kind of shit! And why weren't they looking for him?!"

Pepper watched Georgia's hand tremble around her glass, saw the way her chin quivered and her chest shook as she struggled not to cry. Georgia sniffled, "You know, I spend weeks alone, sometimes months, and it's so _hard_-" They ignored the way her voice broke, ignored the pain lacing each word. "-I miss him every single minute he's gone and the only thing that gets me through it, is knowing that he's coming home. Knowing that in a few days or weeks he'll walk through that door and we'll be together again."

There came a brief silence as Georgia lost herself for a moment, staring into the last remaining bits of the fire. She sloshed her scotch around and whimpered, "This isn't like him, Pepper. Clint is a soldier. He knows the importance of keeping in touch, of maintaining contact. He wouldn't break protocol like this…"

Pepper's heart broke at the sight of her poor friend and the undeniable pain she was suffering. Clearing her throat, she took a sip of her drink and whispered, "The Avengers are the best team on the planet, G. They'll bring Clint home."

At the sound of his name, a handful of tears spilled over and Georgia bit her lip, choking back another round of inconsolable sobbing. "I know they'll bring him home…the only question is will he be alive when they do?"

_September 1__st__, 2015_

"How's she doing?"

Pepper sighed clutching the phone tighter in her hand as she eyed Georgia's sleeping form on the couch. Pepper hadn't gotten her to sleep until well after five a.m. and even then her slumber was broken by desperate cries and tremors. "As well as is to be expected. Tony, why wouldn't they have told us he ceased contact?"

"I don't know," he growled, the distinctively hard edge to his voice telling Pepper S.H.I.E.L.D. had better prepare for World War Three when the Avengers returned. For there would be immense hell to pay for the serious wrong they had done. "Natasha's going to call her soon."

"Tell her to wait at least a few more hours. Georgia needs to rest and she's just now fallen asleep."

"Roger that."

"Tony?"

"Yes, Miss Potts?"

Pepper's heart seized as she looked at her forlorn company. She certainly did not envy Georgia. "Be careful."

"Bye, Pepper."

_September 3__rd__, 2015_

The shrill ring of Natasha's cell phone had become her only lifeline. The sound became as familiar to her as the sound of her own voice. The sound of Clint's. And when she heard that high ring that night, felt the phone vibrate in her grasp, because she slept with her fingers curled tightly around the small device, she felt her heart fly to the back of her throat.

"Tasha?"

"We got him, Georgia. We've got him and we're bringing him home."

After four miserable days and five long months, her husband was coming back to her. Natasha had kept her promise.

_September 4__th__, 2015_

The back ramp of the Quinjet lowered and Georgia felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest at any moment. She'd never felt so anxious in her entire life. Her stomach was folded over in knots upon knots and she knew that if she squeezed Pepper's hand any tighter, the woman's fingers would permanently crook.

But none of that matter because, suddenly, he was there and she was running towards him and when they met, their bodies crashing together, a terrible cry ripped from her throat and she sobbed against him. He was back. Clint was home and alive and safe. This didn't fully hit her until his arms wrapped around her and he gave her the fiercest hug she'd ever known. And then he's pressing kissing into her hair and against the side of her face and murmuring apologies and, "I love you so much."

And he's trying to explain but she doesn't care because he's there and alive and had he ever felt this good beneath her fingertips?

"Later," she told him. Because right then all that mattered was him.

Clint kissed her so passionately that it made her knees quake on the tarmac and when they broke apart, she had to force herself to turn her face away from his, though her body remained firmly against him. She saw them over his shoulder, the Avengers, their wonderful team. She saw Tony hugging Pepper. Saw Bruce and Thor and Steve glaring at the few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the tarmac. Saw Natasha watching her with a fond gaze. They looked so tired, so haggard. They looked like they'd gone to hell to bring him back to her.

"Thank you," she called to them, her voice wavering as Clint pressed his face to her neck and squeezed her just a little tighter, his arms a steel around her. "_Thank_ you."

And it was Bruce who replied first. He sent her a small smile. "You know you don't have to thank us, G."

Thor nodded, his thunderous voice booming, "We are family. This is what family does."

"They go to the ends of the Earth for one another," continued Steve.

"No matter the costs," murmured Natasha.

Tony cleared his throat, arm securely fastened around Pepper's thin frame. "And that's what we'll always do. Because Blondie's right, we're a family. Now, where's Fury? I think we've got one hell of an ass kicking to deliver. Whatta you guys say?"

Clint drew back and cupped Georgia's chin, his thumb stroking her cheek, eyes forever searching her own. He kissed her tenderly. "I say not now. I've just spent five months away from my wife and we've got some catching up to do."

* * *

**And there you have it. As I said, the tone of this chapter was definitely on the serious side. Never fear! The humor will make a swift return in chapter three.**

**Just so you know, if you leave a review, Clint will bake you cookies. Or, you know, brownies or something. He's a fantastic cook, don't worry. **


	3. Chapter 3

**It took a lot longer to get this one out than I anticipated, but classes started back last week and I've practically spent the last five days doing nothing but running errands around campus. So apologies there. A major, huge, you're-awesome-and-I-love-you to: **Wolfshadows32, guest(s), Dasiygirl95, snowangl05, MissyKates .xx, miller330, Kay1104, **and** Not. So. Typical. Girl. ** Seriously, thank you guys so much for the support! I'm so glad you like this story! And so is Clint. He made you guys some sweet treats as promised…but, um, well, I sort of ate them. Sorry about that, too.**

**The humor has returned! This chapter is infinitely happier/smuttier (I love that smuttier is a word) than the previous one. However, it's good to know you guys like the serious side, too. Be sure to see the author's note at the end of this chapter. There is a little scene between Steve and Tony that I'm sure you'll have questions about and I'll try to answer them below.**

**Enjoy, my fellow Hawkeye lovers.**

* * *

_August 12__th__, 2016_

It was the third time in a month that Georgia had woken with a camcorder an inch from her face. Only this time it wasn't Clint behind the lens. Natasha was perched on the edge of their bed peering at her curiously. "Did you know you sing in your sleep?"

Groaning sleepily, Georgia furrowed her brow and muttered, "Sometimes…Tasha, how did you get in here?"

"I have a key."

Georgia blinked. "Oh, right…um, not that I mind but what are you doing here?"

The Russian spy shrugged. "I was bored and I know Clint's in Pakistan so I assumed you'd be bored, too."

"So bored. Cause I turn into a lonely spinster with seven cats when he's gone. What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Eight in the morning?" groaned Georgia. A habit from his days in training, Clint's body rarely allowed him to sleep later than seven and when he was home Georgia followed the same schedule. She only got to sleep in when he was away on missions. The thought of being awake before noon when Clint was out of town was truly outrageous. She glared up at Natasha. "I'm going back to sleep."

"But I'm bored," said Tasha matter-of-factly.

"Go play the Wii or something…read a book…watch a movie, I don't care. Just let me sleep."

"Fine. You have one more hour."

"Three."

"There is no reason for you to sleep until eleven o'clock. One hour and thirty minutes."

"Two and a half."

"Two."

Georgia's glare hardened momentarily, then her brow smoothed. She sighed, snuggling deeper into her pillow. "Fine, two hours, but you can't stay in here and watch me sleep. That's creepy. And don't rearrange my kitchen again. It took me three months to find the measuring cup that last time."

Natasha gave a wry grin from behind the camera as she languidly slid off the bed. "I make no promises."

"Tasha, _please_."

"Sleep tight."

_June 9__th__, 2013_

"Stark, can I talk to you for a second?"

Tony glanced up as Steve stepped into his office. "Sure thing, Captain."

Steve cleared his throat, swallowing thickly. "I um-"

"Time's up."

The Captain coughed, "I'm sorry, what?"

"You said you wanted to talk for a second. Time's up."

"Well, I meant-"

"Do you want to talk for more than a second?"

Steve's face crumbled into an expression of intense annoyance. "_Yes_."

"For how long exactly? I've very busy man, Captain."

"Just a few minutes," gritted Steve through clenched teeth.

"How many minutes we talkin'?"

"Three minutes, at most!"

Tony eyed the extreme patriot. He was silent for a moment before sitting up and nodding, "Proceed."

Nostrils flaring in anger, Steve shook his head, "You know, what? Never mind." And with that, Steve Rogers turned and retreated out of the office the way he came.

Tony blinked. "Well, wait up, now, Cap," he called. Where was Steve going? He couldn't walk away now; Tony's curiosity had been peeked. "Captain!"

_February 17__th__, 2016_

The shower was running when he returned home from headquarters, having just spent four days in Seattle. He glanced at the clock on the stove. It was after midnight.

Slinking down the corridor that led to their bedroom, he pushed open their bathroom door and leaned against the frame. There she was. He watched through the steam on the glass shower door as Georgia rinsed her hair, shampoo foam sliding down her arms and back. He brazenly gazed on as beads of water trickled down his wife's naked body. Her eyes were closed; she was completely unaware of his presence.

Clint stared at her until his mouth ran dry. Licking his lips, he called over the roar of the shower, "I'm surprised you're up."

Georgia's eyes flew open, a terrified shriek ripping from her lips as she clenched her chest. "God, shit, Clint! You scared the hell out of me!"

He gave a dry chuckle, pushing off the door frame. "Sorry."

Georgia nudged open the shower door with one soapy hand, leaning out to kiss his cheek. "How was Seattle?"

"Wet."

She waved a hand at the showerhead. "Join the club."

Clint gave a tired yet devilish grin. "Is that an invitation?"

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Always."

Clint stepped back, kicking off one shoe, then the other, while simultaneously pulling his shirt over his head. Georgia leaned against the tiled shower wall, water cascading over her as she boldly watched him unfasten his belt buckle. Once all of his clothes were disregarded on the floor, he slid into the shower beside her. The water was scalding, as all her showers were. His skin hissed, his eyes rapidly blinking out the water.

"I'm surprised you're up," he told her once more. He couldn't stop himself from staring at the water running down her tanned body, little streams flowing between the valley of her breasts and over the smooth, soft planes of her stomach. She peered up at him with her slightly too large doe-eyes, reaching around him for the men's body wash. Pouring a handful onto her palm, she started with his shoulders, murmuring, "Well, I just got home. Do you remember Genna the Ginger from marketing? Her baby shower was today at two and it lasted 'til damn seven o'clock. Five hours of women talking about formula and diapers and breast feeding-"

"Breast feeding," he repeated with a smirk. "Now that doesn't sound too bad."

"It was awful," she grumbled, hands lathering soap onto his chest, his stomach, his waist. Soap bubbled up between her fingers and Clint's eyes drifted shut as his wife massaged the body wash into his skin. God, that felt good.

"If the party ended at seven, why are you getting home at midnight?"

"A few of the girls and I shared a taxi home and someone suggested we go out for drinks. Next thing I know we're at Knickerbocker surrounded by a bunch of half-drunk co-eds from NYU who are grinding on each other while that Justin Beiber and Lil' Wayne song played in the background."

He cracked open one eye. "Justin Beiber?"

"And Lil' Wayne. Like I said, _awful_."

"That's what you get for going to Knickerbocker."

"Martinis were half priced tonight," she pouted subtly. "Turn around."

He did as she instructed, giving her his back. He crossed his arms on the tiled shower wall in front of him, resting his forehead on his hands, Georgia's slender fingers playing across his shoulders and upper back. She softly commented on the tension in his back muscles, before falling silent. He felt her hands slip from his skin. He waited a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. "G…?"

"Huh? Sorry." She blinked, cheeks flushing pink.

Clint smirked at her, "You were staring at my ass."

"I was," she admitted. "I was, I'm sorry. I was staring at your ass, but it's just so cute."

"My ass is _not_ cute," he snorted. Georgia wrapped her arms around his torso, breasts pressing into his bare back as she placed a tender kiss on his shoulder, "I beg to differ."

After a few heated kisses and some not-so-subtle ass grabbing, Georgia finished washing her husband's body only to then wash his hair as well. By the time they stepped out of the shower, their fingers and toes were pruned to hell and the water had turned cold. Clint wrapped a towel around Georgia's shoulders, hugging her like a child. He pressed a kiss to her wet hair, "It feels good to be home."

"Yeah, you should try it more often," she joked, elbowing his ribs. "Dry off. You're dripping water everywhere."

Smirking, he leaned his head toward her and shook his hair out like a dog.

"_Clint_! Ah! Stop it!" she whined, swatting him away and ducking for cover under her towel. But he persisted. He tugged the towel from her body, the ends of his wet hair slinging water droplets all over her. She tried to sound menacing through her fit of giggles, but failed miserably, "Why do you do shit like this?"

Shooting him a very false glare, she looped her towel around his neck and tugged his face down to hers. "That was not very nice."

Clint smirked, yanking her forward, their naked bodies flushing together. "I'm not a nice guy."

She leaned forward on her tips toes to whisper against his lips, "I'm gonna call bullshit on that."

"Call away."

He kissed her soundly, lifting her off the bathroom floor, her long legs folding around his hips. The towel fell limply to the floor and Georgia sighed against his mouth; she didn't think she'd ever get tired of the sensation of his skin on hers. Clint carried her to their bed, laying her gently among the piles of pillows and sheets. And then he paused. She watched him with curious eyes, waiting. "Clint?"

"Hang on," he murmured softly.

Her gaze trailed after him as he retreated from the bed. She shamelessly stared at his ass once again. He really did have a cute butt. "Babe, what are y-oh, you've got to be shitting me."

Clint turned on the camcorder and said softly, "I want to remember you…exactly like this."

"Baby, no! This is like the beginning of a bad porno."

"Bad? I think we'd make a great porno," he muttered distractedly as he allowed the camera to roam over her naked, wet body. He caught her droll stare on film, her full lips dipping into a pout as she grumbled, "We are not making a porno and I swear if you don't put that thing away…"

She moved to pull a blanket over her and Clint pleaded, "Baby, please…? This one'll be for my eyes only."

"They _all_ better be for your eyes only," she warned. But slowly, very slowly, she loosened her grip on their down comforter and left her body on display. There was a subtle tension in her shoulders, her body frigid as she lay there exposed to the camera. Clint drew closer with the camcorder. He spoke quietly as he directed the lens to focus on her legs, "You have the sexiest legs in the world…they're so long and beautiful…strong calves, thin ankles…"

The focus moved languidly, further up his wife's body. "Hmm…that perfect little waist…" Clint gave a half-smile and Georgia's eye roll told him she knew he wasn't talking about her waist at all but rather the part of her body he enjoyed the most. The camera moved passed her stomach to her breasts. "And then there are those…"

Georgia might not have been Pamela Anderson, in fact she was nowhere even close, but she was small-chested by no means. Swallowing thickly, Clint lifted the camera to rest on her face. "…finally, the best part."

She had tentatively relaxed and was now smiling at his antics. "You're like a little kid with a new toy."

Clicking off the camcorder, Clint muttered, "Damn good toy." He placed the Nikon on the nightstand and lowered his body to hers, his back stretching like a cat as he flexed over her. He nipped at her breasts, lips and tongue trailing across her skin. Kissing his way up her collar and neck, he nibbled just behind her ear and felt his chest constrict with pride at her soft whimpers.

"Clint, do you think it's normal?" she whispered, her hands grazing his shoulders.

He pulled back to look at her. "Is what normal?"

"The fact that we have sex so much. We have more sex than any couple I know. With our combined sexual appetites, we should have forty-three kids by now."

A few witty retorts popped into his mind, but Clint could see that beneath her joking demeanor, Georgia was truly concerned. "Baby," he murmured. Propping against the pillows, he pulled her into his lap and cupped her face, brushing his thumbs tenderly across her cheeks. "There is nothing wrong with how much we have sex. We're apart for weeks, sometimes months, at a time and we have to make up for that lost time. If it were up to me, we'd have sex every hour. We would never leave the apartment."

She gave a soft chuckle and poked his chest. "I won't lie, your stamina is pretty impressive but I don't think you could handle once an hour."

Clint pinned her with a very serious stare. "I'd be willing to test that theory."

"I'm sure you would."

"No, seriously. Let's do it. We'll make a day of it. Lock the door, turn off our phones…maybe film it-"

"Clint."

"Okay, we don't have to film it."

Georgia glared at the Nikon, her lips curling slightly. "I kind of hate that thing."

"Really?" His fingers ghosted down her spine. "Cause it loves you."

Sighing, Georgia rolled herself on top of Clint, muttering, "Whatever." Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends still dripping wet as they tickled Clint's face. She studied him for a moment; he was kind of beautiful, her husband. And powerful. There were no limits to the damage he could do with all the lean muscle. No wonder they had sex so much. Georgia slid down his body, sensually kissing her way down his chest. Suddenly, she paused and held up her finger, shooting him a crooked grin. "I'll be right back."

She returned a moment later with a half-empty bottle of chocolate syrup and the bed shook from Clint's obnoxious laughter. Georgia wasted no time smearing the syrup across Clint's stomach and abs. Snickering, she lowered her mouth to his taunt, chocolate-smothered skin.

She was halfway through licking up the syrup when Clint's phone rang. Groaning, she rolled off of him and Clint pointed at her mouth. "You've got a little something…"

"Shut up and answer your phone. And hurry up. I've got to get the rest of that chocolate off of you before you get it all over the sheets."

He snatched his phone off of the dresser. "Barton."

Georgia picked up the bottle of syrup and squirted a glob of chocolate onto her finger. She fucking loved chocolate. There were some days when she almost loved chocolate as much as she loved Clint. Almost.

"Yes, sir. Yes. And will…? Okay. Got it. See you then." Clint snapped the phone shut, tossing it carelessly onto the dresser. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Georgia knew that look. Knew this standard phone call. His wife drew her knees to her chest, her back resting against the headboard of their bed. "When do you leave?"

"Oh-eight hundred."

"In the morning? You _just_ got home." Her stomach churned unpleasantly.

"We got a lead on Henderson. I'm lucky they're letting me stay the night and not putting me on a plane in an hour."

All was quiet for a moment. Then, Georgia sighed. "Okay." She returned the syrup to the kitchen and came back with a wet paper towel in hand. Clint's brow furrowed, "What's that for?"

She motioned for him to come to her. He did so and she began wiping away the remaining chocolate on his stomach. He caught her wrist when he realized what she was doing. "I prefer the former method."

"Yeah, well you have to be on a plane in about five hours. You need to sleep."

"I'll sleep on the plane," he told her, ducking swiftly to kiss her.

"No, you won't. You'll be briefed on the plane," she rolled her eyes. In spite of his protests, she finished cleaning his stomach with the paper towel and fetched him a pair of boxers before slipping on a tee shirt and underwear herself. Groaning, Clint followed her to bed, "You know that ridiculous sexual appetite you mentioned earlier…its feeling very unsatisfied right now."

Georgia curled into his side. "Take it up with the director."

"I don't think Fury will be too keen to help sate that appetite. Besides, you know what they say…once you go black…"

Georgia couldn't help but snicker as they settled in between the sheets, "Oh my God, you're awful." A warm silence fell over them and Georgia felt a sort of peace consume her as she lay in her husband's arms. He always made her feel so safe. She nuzzled his chest, "Where are you going?"

"Don't know."

"Well, be careful…"

He pressed a tender kiss into her hair, his arms tightening around her. "Always am, G. Always am."

* * *

Wolfshadows32 **made a comment in their review that they couldn't wait to find out where Clint had been for five months and I just wanted to let you guys know that eventually you will find out where he was and what exactly happened there. It'll just be later on down the line that we get to hear Clint's explanation.**

**Also, you **_will_** eventually find out what Steve wanted to talk to Tony about (it's pretty hilarious, I have to say) just…you know, not right now. **

**Next chapter, we see how Clint and Georgia met! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for being patient with me! Classes have started up once again and I'm already swamped. Yay college, right? …yeah, whatever. Anywhoo, here it is, as promised, Clint and Georgia's first meeting! **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

_October 26__th__, 2012_

Clint had never been particularly fond of New York City. For a man of his skill set, he preferred flat terrain that was open and easy to survey. There were too many skyscrapers, too many subways, in the Big Apple. Besides, the only thing crowds of that size were good for was for helping someone disappear.

However, Clint found that after the Manhattan incident, their first official go at saving the world as a team, the city had a certain appeal. A charming familiarity. And with Stark Tower becoming a common rendezvous point for the Avengers, he found himself returning to New York's bustling streets more often. Currently, he sat at a small table outside one of Manhattan's best coffee shops 'Snice, sipping on a dark roast blend, and silently observing the human traffic around him. He had half an hour to kill before he and Natasha would be returning to the temporary headquarters S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up until their base in the desert could be restored. New York was merely a pit stop on their way to file the report on the duo's latest mission.

It had been a simple run – something they'd done a dozen times before. Tango with the target. Switch some documents. Get out without raising suspicion. It was child's play, honestly, and he knew it was Director Fury's way of keeping them busy until the Avengers were needed again - which they all hoped would be a very long time from now. They were still very much so recovering from that whole alien-invasion mess and didn't need anything shaking up Earth any time soon.

"Excuse me." There was a woman in front of him suddenly. His fingers tightened around his cup of coffee. How had he not noticed her approach? He was reminded as to why he loathed cities like New York. On the coffee shop's overcrowded patio, it hadn't been instinct to pick her out. There had been no sense of a threat. He blinked up at the woman. "Yes?"

"I'm so sorry to bother you. This is extremely rude, and you should know that I would normally never ask," she murmured, nervously. "But it's ridiculously crowded in the shop. The place is packed. And there are no empty tables out here and I desperately, desperately need this cup of coffee right now. I was wondering if I could sit here. Or steal a chair..?"

"Oh," he grunted. "Um…yes, by all means, please, have a seat."

"Oh, my God. Thank you so much," she sighed, pulling out a chair and stuffing her bag under her feet. She was pretty, in a sort of girl next door way. Her tanned face was perfectly rounded, her blue gaze a little too doe-eyed. She had dark hair that was pulled away from her face and nearly hidden by the dark red scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. She wore a pair of thin glasses the same color of her scarf. They sat on the tip of her nose and as she glanced at him, she subtly pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose and extended a hand across the table top. "Hi, I'm Georgia, but most people call me G."

He took her hand in his, giving a light shake and was surprised by the smoothness of her skin. Nothing at all like his, or Tasha's, or anyone else in their line of duty, for that matter. They had working hands. Rough hands. Hands used to danger. "Hello, G. I'm Aaron," he lied with ease.

"Aaron, nice to meet you," she gave a small grin. "Thanks for letting me crash your party."

He mirrored her grin, tilting his half-empty coffee cup. "Not much of a party."

"Must be just getting started, then," she replied cheerfully. "What brings you to New York, Aaron?"

"Am I that easily marked tourist?"

"It's all in the accent. And, well, the get-up."

Clint raised a brow, motioning for her to explain. Georgia shifted in her chair and took a sip of her latte before murmuring, "Well, you definitely do not have a native New York accent. So you're visiting or recently relocated to the city. You're not a business man-"

"I could be taking time off," he countered but she swiftly shook her head, "Even then, the type of business men loitering around Manhattan wear flashy watches or shoes or jackets and are always on their cell phones. Everything about your outfit is understated. Muted colors, no brand names, no brands whatsoever. You could be a tourist but you look kind of miserable. Vacation gone awry?"

Clint was surprised. She was clearly very smart and a bit on the observational side herself. He gave her a shrug, "Something like that. Well, since you have me so clearly pegged, why don't you tell me something about yourself, G? Why do you need that coffee so badly?"

Her eyes instantly narrowed to slits. "Because my boss is a cruel man, Mr. Aaron. A cruel, capricious man. Get this, are you ready?"

Amused, Clint nodded.

"Okay, this man, who I've been working for less than two months mind you, calls me last night at fifteen 'til midnight and politely informs me that he won't make it into the office today and that I'm to give a presentation on his behalf. The presentation was at eight this morning. I spent all night pouring over his emails, trying to prepare, and finally crashed around five, trying to get a least enough sleep so that I didn't look like a zombie today-"

"I don't think you look like a zombie," he told her.

She paused to give him a sincere smile. "Thank you. My foundation works wonders. But anyway, so I'm sleeping, right? Completely unaware that the power temporarily went out in my building. When the power went out, it knocked my alarm clock out of sync…I overslept two hours."

He nearly choked on his coffee. She glared at him over his cup and he fought his own laughter. "That _is_ unfortunate."

"No shit," she rolled her eyes. "By some grace of God, I just happened to wake up and look at my cell phone. So now I'm sleep deprived, basically unprepared for the presentation, and am running two hours behind. I was forty-five minutes late. And guess what the presentation was on?"

Clint raised a brow. "Shirking off one's responsibilities to other employees?"

Georgia's face deadpanned as she replied, "The presentation was on time management."

A great, barking laugh erupted from him and he was promptly met with a glare from the small woman across from him, despite the grin on her lips. "It's not funny! It was so embarrassing. Late…for a presentation on time management. But, on the upside, since I knew my boss wasn't coming in today, I decided to treat myself for not murdering him and have taken the rest of the day off."

"That was quite a story," chuckled Clint as he polished off his coffee. He chucked the empty cup into the nearest trashcan, a circular bin about seven feet away, by the door of the shop. He watched Georgia's jaw drop, her eyes darting between him and the trash bin, "Um, that was seriously impressive, sir. Did you even look? How did you do that? There were like three people walking by. How did you…huh, impressive."

He merely shrugged, "I just have good aim."

"I'll say. Did you play basketball in high school? I bet they loved you."

His lips twisted into a wry grin. "No. I was on the archery team."

Georgia gave a full blow smile. "Badass. I bet you get a lot of Hunger Games jokes nowadays, huh?"

"A few," he admitted. "Though the Legolas cracks are a bit more common. At least Orlando Bloom's a man."

"And an attractive one at that," added Georgia with a wink as she brought her latte to her lips. Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, Clint checked the time. Georgia gasped, "So you _do_ have a fancy watch. A true business man, indeed."

"You've got me all figured out, G," he murmured, a smile ghosting over his mouth. He glanced down the block, across the large square, to the entrance of the newly rebuilt Stark Tower where he spotted Natasha exchanging goodbyes with Pepper Potts and the Iron Man himself. He tapped his watchface before pulling his sleeve back down. He smiled at the pleasant woman across from him, "It was lovely to meet you, Georgia, but it looks like my time is up."

"And what a shame that is," she replied coyly. She motioned the table, "Thanks for sharing."

"Thanks for the story…who's your boss, anyway? Some media mogul or…?"

"Uh, no." She turned in her chair, pointing down the street. "He's, uh, Tony Stark, actually."

Again, a deep laugh rumbled within him and Clint shook his head. "Of course, he is."

"Well." She blushed a bit, Clint noticed, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink. She pushed back her glasses once more and explained, "I work for Stark Industries, so he's my boss's boss, I guess. I work in the public relations department."

"Two months, right? Transfer or new position?"

"Transfer from our Los Angeles office."

He saw Tasha making her way towards 'Snice through the busy New York crowds. As he stood from the table, he asked, "Your choice or there's?"

"Mine. I needed a fresh start."

"Yeah?" he grinned. If there was anything Clint knew about, it was fresh starts. "How's that working out for you?"

"I'll let you know," she said softly. Clint grinned down at her; she really was quite lovely. His eyes subconsciously drifted to her left hand. No ring. A small feeling of satisfaction trickled down his throat.

Perhaps in another time, another place…but today, he simply said, "It really was very nice to meet you, G," before flashing her a dazzling grin and disappearing into the mass of people on the sidewalk.

A smile on her lips, Georgia sipped her coffee and watched the attractive stranger go.

_November 4__th__, 2012_

She was calling his name. Not his real name. His Avengers name. Hawkeye. She was calling him over the COMM frequency, her voice right in his ear though she was actually two blocks away. "Hawk!"

"I'm here. Quit yelling. You'll draw attention to yourself."

"Why weren't you answering?"

"I had a situation," Clint replied. "It's been handled."

That was a total lie. He hadn't responded because he'd been temporarily off in some distant, imaginary word. Some false, foreign world where he didn't spend his days chasing down international threats in the sewers of third world slums. Another world, a fictious world, where he was able to walk into a room without automatically scanning for escape routes, where he could go to a public restaurant or store without picking up on every conversation in the building. A world where he wasn't alone.

He started to slip back into his land of day dreams and barely caught his partner's sigh. The concern was clear in the Russian's tone. "You've been getting distracted an awful lot lately, Clint."

He scoffed. "No names, Widow. Who's distracted now?"

"Is this because of Loki? Why are you letting this continue to bother you?"

Clint felt his body become instantly rigid at the mention of the Asgardian. It was pure instinct the way his body clenched up as if preparing to fight off another internal invasion. "I'm over that. I told you."

Another lie.

"Fine. Just keep focused. The target should be leaving soon."

His eyes swept over a four block radius, then searched the sky. They were clear. "Roger that."

And off he went again, fading into that dream world where he sat at a coffee shop with a cute brunette whose witty commentary made him feel more than normal. Their meeting had been brief but memorable, and as he perched on a broken fire escape waiting to tail a Scandinavian spy, he couldn't help but remember the sight of her left hand. Her _ringless_ left hand.

And then Natasha was calling him again. And he was still distracted.

"Fuck," he cursed himself. He had to shake this. But then, she really had been cute.

_November 16__th__, 2012_

This didn't usually happen.

Clint was a hard man to take by surprise. His observational and perception skills made it difficult to hide anything from him and he saw and dealt with some pretty weird shit working alongside the likes of a demi-god alien and a hulk. So, for Clint, surprises were usually out.

And what's more, this was one surprise he should've seen coming. He knew the girl from the coffee shop worked for Stark Industries. That was about all he knew about her. She was cute. She was from Los Angeles. And she worked for Stark. So why was it such a shock for Clint to see her at Stark's annual company gala? But maybe he wasn't surprised by her presence so much as her appearance. She'd lost the glasses and, unlike their first meeting, her dark hair hung loose around her face. She wore a strapless, silver dress that fell to her ankles, barely reaching the floor, and that gave light to curves that had been hidden by a winter's coat when they'd met. She was lingering at the bar, a martini glass in hand, and looking slightly pained. Probably had something to do with the tuxedoed, older gentleman standing in front of her, swishing around a glass of scotch and eyeing her without the slightest hint of subtly.

Scoffing, Clint felt the compulsion to go to her; after all, she was practically all he'd been thinking about for the past month. She'd become a familiar fantasy for him. But that's just it. She was a fantasy, some phantom hope for a different life he knew he could never have. Still, he stared after her with a bitter longing, then suddenly grew frustrated with himself and all his conflicting emotions.

He crossed the room in mere seconds, halting at her side before he could stop himself. "Georgia!" he beamed. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. Thought you'd run off on me."

Her eyes widened in, what Clint hoped was pleasant, surprise and she placed her glass on the bar to loop her arms around him. "Aaron, hey!"

Clint felt oddly satisfied that she'd remembered his name, however fake it had been, and returned her gentle hug. She was a lot taller than he recalled; but, then, that might've been the heels.

The older man miffed at Clint's interruption, stalking away when Georgia murmured, "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a moment?" When they were alone, Georgia smiled softly at him, "I have to say this is a definite surprise. What're you doing here? You really are a business man, huh?"

Clint smirked. "Something like that. I, uh, I work with Stark."

He watched her brow furrow adorably. She chewed her lip. "Work _with_ Stark? Wait, are you…you aren't one of _them_ are you?"

"Them?"

"The Avengers. That's what they're called, right?"

Clint licked his lips and glanced out at the dance floor briefly before meeting her gaze. "And if I say I am one of them…?"

A slow grin lifted her lips. "I would say your job is insanely cooler than mine and that you're kind of awesome, Aaron."

He gave a small chuckle. "Oh, I'm awesome alright. But, um, my name's actually Clint."

She blinked. "Uhh, okay?"

"Working for the government, one develops certain habits. I very rarely use my real name."

"Then I should feel touched," she smiled, lifting a hand his way. As they shook hands for the second time, Georgia said, "It's very nice to meet you, Clint. I'm Georgia, but, please, call me G."

He inclined his head to her. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Oh, that wasn't cheesy at all, was it?" she teased him, before turning to order a martini. "What're you drinking?"

"I'm not," he replied.

"Another G-man habit? What, no drinking in public and rendering one's self vulnerable?"

While she had a good point, this was actually a personal rule. Clint explained, "I get kind of…friendly when I drink. Nothing too inappropriate, but apparently I'm an affectionate drunk who really enjoys hugs."

Georgia giggled into her virtually empty martini glass. "Well, if that's the case, why don't we just get you an entire bottle of bourbon. Or are you a tequila kinda guy?"

"I prefer to be flexible. A little bit of everything." As she turned to accept her fresh martini from the bartender, Clint shamelessly stole a glance at her ass and was not disappointed. Grinning at her, he motioned the dance floor, "You couldn't tempt me with a drink but maybe I can tempt you with a dance?"

Her blue eyes became saucers. "Oh, no. No, um, I don't…I don't dance. At all. Ever."

"Never?" he questioned skeptically. "Not at your prom? Or a cousin's wedding?"

"Never. I have two left feet and absolutely no sense of rhythm."

Clint took her hand in his own. "I refuse to believe that."

Georgia protested weakly as he tugged her out onto the dance floor amidst the couples of New York's hierarchy. His placed his free hand on her waist, pulling her against him, and caught a faint whiff of strawberries. Her shampoo? As she brought a hand to rest on his shoulder, she glanced around nervously, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. He watched her chew her lip in worry, delighted at the feeling of her body on his. "This is so uncomfortable," she whispered. "I hate dancing."

He stroked her hip comfortingly. "You're doing fine."

She glared at him. "I really hate dancing."

Clint smirked. "So you've said."

They continued to dance for the rest of the song, Georgia growing more miserable by the second, and when the orchestra completed the piece, he felt her sigh of relief. They clapped along with the crowd and Clint leaned in to murmured, "You weren't kidding about those two left feet, huh?"

She slapped his arm jokingly. "I have a condition, okay? Don't judge me."

Clint caught her hands before she could escape the dance floor. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Honestly, you aren't that bad."

"_That_ bad?"

He winced. "Well…you are a bit rhythm-less."

She dropped her head to his chest, pitifully hiding away in the folds of his tuxedo shirt. "Please don't make me dance again."

He tugged her closer, cradling her body to his as they slowly twirled through the maze of couples. Clint spoke into her ear, "Did you not enjoy yourself at all?" He felt her tense ever so slightly beneath his touch and when she lifted her face to look at him, they were so close h e could almost kiss her.

"That's not the point."

"That's exactly the point," he corrected. "As long as you're having a good time, rhythm be damned."

Georgia's eye narrowed at him. She seemed to think his words over for a moment before a smile ghosted over her lips. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. "You're very charming, you know that?"

"I might've been told that once or twice before."

"Oh, I bet you have…"

"Georgia…this is going to sound very forward, but would you like to get out of here?"

Georgia smiled at him slowly. "Clint, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

He had no idea what had made him ask. Okay, that's a complete lie. He knew exactly why he'd asked her to leave the gala with him. For weeks he'd laid in bed dreaming about her, this seemingly perfect stranger. But he knew she wasn't the same woman from his dreams and knew that it wasn't fair what he was doing to her. They had a freak, chance meeting at a coffee shop. She had been cute and smart and somehow he'd built her up in his mind. Somehow he'd made her represent everything he wanted out of life and now that Clint had run into her again, all of those dreams came rushing back to him.

They went to his hotel for drinks and the whole affair felt foreign to Clint. It had been so long since he'd been alone with a woman in such a personal setting; well, aside from Tasha. He was so unsure of every move he was making, every word he said. About two drinks in, Georgia seemed to pick up on his hesitant uncertainty and very promptly kiss him.

"I figured you'd relax if we got the pressure of the first kiss out of the way," she later told him. And she hadn't been wrong.

When she kissed him, it was like something inside of him snapped. She had broken him, turned him into putty beneath her fingertips. Every worry, every pressure he felt went flying out the door and suddenly all he wanted was to get that very stunning dress off of her and to explode every ounce of skin underneath it. So he did just that.

That was the first time they made love and afterward as they lay in his bed, Georgia stroked her finger down his cheek and murmured, "I don't usually do this kind of thing."

Clint replied that he didn't either.

Eventually, the buzz of alcohol began to dwindle and as they sobered up, Georgia declared that it was time she went home; apparently, she had a promotions project due Monday and she was meeting with Pepper Potts, the company's CEO and Tony's girlfriend of sorts, the following morning. They dressed, Clint zipping up the back of dress and placing a kiss on her bare shoulder as he offered to drive her home. Georgia shivered at the intimate gesture, her shoulder burning hot where his lips had been, and accepted.

When they reached her building, he walked her up to her apartment and tenderly kissed her goodbye. Or, that's what he was supposed to be doing, anyway. Somehow the kiss had turned from one of goodbye, to one of hello_, _again. Georgia barely managed to get her apartment door unlocked before Clint's shirt was off.

"I swear, this is so unlike me," breathed Georgia as Clint pressed her against her living room wall, his lips trailing a path of hot kisses down her neck. She was panting, her chest rising and falling heavily, her head spinning. Damn, if this man didn't know how to use his mouth.

Clint cupped her face and brought their lips together. "I know. I'm usually traveling and preoccupied with work. I honestly can't remember the last time I slept with a woman."

Georgia ran her hands up his arms to lock around his neck. She kissed him soundly. "It was about an hour ago in your hotel."

Smirking, Clint lifted her, her legs instantly wrapping around him. "What do you say we go for round two, G?"

Georgia bit her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. "Let's do it."

* * *

**Once again, I'd like to thank: **Dasiygirl95, snowangl05, JohnnyStormsGirl, miller330, Kay1104, **and** Not. So. Typical. Girl. **for your kind reviews!** **I'm so glad you guys like the story so much. You all rock and I love you a lot…and so does Clint. **

**See you next time! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, again. I hope everyone's weekend is going well. There's a lot going on in this one, guys! We see more of the other Avengers, plus we get a lot of background on Clint. As always, a major thanks to**: Kay1104, JohnnyStormsGirl, snowangl05, miller330, T, JustLyndsey, **and** Dasiygirl95**. Your kind reviews always make me smile and keep me inspired! Also, **T,** thank you so much for pointing out the error with the dates in the last chapter. It was a typo I didn't catch, but I'm glad you did! **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think! **

* * *

_December 7__th__, 2016_

Georgia stared pitifully at the Nikon in her hands. "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

_December 8__th__, 2016_

"If there were any moment for you to have that stupid video camera of yours," purred Natasha in her favorite condescending tone as she watched Tony and Thor with amused eyes. "…_this_ would be it."

"What's going on?" asked Clint, who'd just arrived at Stark Tower for a short briefing on their upcoming mission before they headed out of the country.

"Tony thought it would be fun if he taught Thor how do to that gangman dance or whatever it's called," drawled Pepper Potts as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray of coffee.

Clint's brow drew. "I'm sorry, _gangman_?"

"She means Gangnam Style. You remember the song from four years ago by that Korean guy who danced like he was riding a horse," explained Tasha.

A small smirk lifted Clint's lips. "Oh, yeah. That was bad."

"Tell me about it," murmured Pepper as she eyed her soon-to-be husband across the room. It was definitely a sight to see, two grown men awkwardly jumping up and down, Thor's cape an unforeseen hindrance to their dancing.

"No, no, Blondie," Tony chided the God of Thunder. "You have to gallop. You know, _gallop_."

"I do not understand the point of this, Tony," rumbled the favored Son of Odon. His long blonde locks shook as he awkwardly attempted to gallop in place, his thunderous steps shaking the glass windows and lighting. "Am I doing this properly?"

Tony sighed, hands on his hips. "Unfortunately not, my friend. But a solid A for effort."

The Iron Man rounded on the couch, suddenly, where Steve Rogers was lounging watching the whole display with an entertained yet sympathetic expression; Steve had tried to tell Thor not to listen to Tony but the god was just _so_ trusting sometimes. Tony eyed the Captain, "Whatta ya say, Cap? Wanna give it a try?"

"No, thank you," Steve replied sardonically with a single raised brow.

"Oh, come on! I'm just trying to catch you up to speed. It's a very popular dance, not your fault you missed it while you were passing time as a Cap-sicle. C'mon, the ladies love it, I swear," winked Tony. His face abruptly grew very serious. He dramatically clutched his hands to his chest, as if astonished. "Would I lie to you, Captain?"

"Alright, children, enough play time. Director Fury's on the line," chimed Pepper, breaking in before Tony could do further damage. The Avengers followed her down the hall to the conference room where they gathered around the long table. Pepper told Jarvis to lower the screen as she began passing out mugs of steaming coffee. A clear monitor dropped from the ceiling and the video feed went live, an eye-patched Director Fury glaring at them. "Morning, team. How's the weather in New York?"

"It's been kind of su-" began Steve but he was swiftly cut off by the director, "That's nice. Whatever the case, I'm sure it's better than the weather where you're going."

"And where is that?" asked Bruce.

Director Fury gave a rare smile. "Neza-Chalco-Itza."

Tony blinked. "Gazuntite."

Clint rolled his eyes and explained, "Neza is a barrio in Mexico City. Imagine a drain the size of Brooklyn and fill it with roughly four million people. It's the largest recorded slum in the world."

Bruce winced. "Sounds lovely…and not unlike Calcutta."

"I'm sure you'll feel right at home, doctor," teased Natasha.

The director briefed them quickly; their mission was to intercept and stop the kidnapping and potential torture of a U.S. asset who was hiding in Mexico City as a part of the witness protect program.

"Are you trying to make us do your dirty work, Fury? Because, in my opinion," rumbled Stark. "On a scale of _one_ to _alien invasion_, this doesn't even register."

"Oh, it registers alright," declared the director. He glared at the Iron Man, "The asset you're assigned to protect is Jacob Henderson."

There came a collective mutter of, "Oh, _shit."_

"Um, who's Henderson again?" asked the Captain, sitting up a bit straighter, a tad embarrassed at being the only one who didn't remember. Though Steve had a sinking suspicion that Thor couldn't recall the name either.

Tony's eyes narrowed bitterly, "Oh, you know, just the nuclear physicist who learned how to turn my clean energy project into a nuclear weapon of mass destruction."

Jacob Henderson was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had been one of the head physicists working alongside Eric Selvig when they'd studied the tesseract. When Thor took the tesseract out of their galaxy, Henderson had turned to Stark's clean energy technology, the same technology he used to power Stark Tower, and used it to complete Phase Two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plan. He'd taken their weapons and Stark's clean energy and created three different proto-types perfect for nuclear destruction. When he did, he not only became a national threat, but one of the most sought after men in the world. He was forced into hiding immediately.

"Guess we better get going then," muttered Natasha as she stood from the table, the others following her lead as the director wished them good luck and signed off.

The Avengers assembled on the rooftop helipad of Stark Tower where their team Quinjet awaited. As Pepper said goodbye to the team, Jarvis chimed in over the apartment's speaker system, "Sir, Miss Georgia is making her way up the elevator as we speak. She's currently passing the fifty-fifth floor. Might I suggest a slight delay in departure?"

Clint tilted his head toward the Quinjet. "Tasha, go ahead and get her started. I'll just be a second."

"Hurry up, Casanova. We've got a world to save," snapped Stark as he gave Pepper one final kiss. Closing the face on his Iron Man suit, he clapped Bruce on the back and the pair of friends entered the back of the Quinjet. Steve and Thor followed shortly thereafter, Steve calling to Clint, "Don't listen to Tony. Take your time. We'll be ready when you are."

Georgia was waiting for him in the foyer, his camcorder on hand, a small smile on her lips. He approached her, eyes sweeping over her frame for any sign of damage or pain. "Hey, baby, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. But I'm glad I caught you…I, uh…" Georgia blushed, briefly glancing away. She chewed her lip. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone this time so I made you…a video."

Clint's heart has stopped three times in his life.

The first time he was seven and his mother accidentally dropped her hair dryer in the tub while Clint was taking a bath. The second time was after he'd joined the army; it was his last week at boot camp and they were practicing in-water survival exercises at Fort Richardson, just off the coast of Anchorage, Alaska. During the training, one of the guys in Clint's unit employed a faulty BDU flotation device that never inflated and, under the load of his rucksack, the soldier began to drown. Clint was a naturally good swimmer and gave the drowning soldier his BDU float; he would risk swimming without it. Two seconds later, their unit was slammed with a storm-surge wave. The force of the wave drove Clint down more than twenty feet beneath the surface of the ocean and caused him to swallow so much salt water that his lungs began to fail. His body panicked. His heart stopped.

And _this_…this was the third time his heart stopped.

Georgia blinked at him. "Clint?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry. What? Did you say you made a _video_?"

Despite her smile, Georgia rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic about it. But, yes, I did make you a video. I suggest you watch it alone, if you catch my drift."

"Consider it caught," said Clint as he took his beloved Nikon from her and swallowed thickly, a slow, stupid grin spreading across his face. "You made me a video," he repeated, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. "I hope you know I'll be completely distracted all day, now. Maybe I should watch it now an-"

"Oh, shut up. Go on, you've got a plane to catch."

"I doubt they'll leave without me considering I'm the only one who can fly that thing." But he really did have to go so he hugged her fiercely and kissed her goodbye. It was a slow kiss; the heavy, passionate kind of kiss you see in Nicholas Sparks movies right before the couple has sex for the first time. "I'll be home soon. I love you, G."

"I love you, too," Georgia murmured.

Clint winked at his wife. "You better."

_July 28__th__, 2016_

"I hope you realize there is absolutely zero chance of you having sex tonight," Georgia told him under her breath while giving him the evil eye.

Clint couldn't stop the loud chuckle bursting from his lips. "Oh? And why not?" His question was more than rhetorical. He knew exactly why he wouldn't be getting laid that night; it was because of the Nikon camcorder in his hand. He juggled the camera, "Oh, you mean because of this?"

Georgia shot him a vacant, sarcastic glare. "Uh, yeah, babe, that'd by why…I can't believe you brought that thing out in public. People are staring."

"People always stare. I'm famous. Or haven't you heard? I save the world."

"You're an idiot."

"That's hurtful," Clint pouted behind the camera's lens as he followed his wife through a fresh foods store on the bottom level of New York City's Chelsea Market. "So I'm filming you grocery shopping? This video could save your life one day. Say I lose my memory and forget-" He maneuvered around her to a vegetable stand, where he plucked up an onion and held it up to the camera. "-that you are deathly allergic to onions. But wait, that one home video when…and suddenly you're saved from dying of an allergic reaction."

"Or I could just tell you my allergies like normal people," she snapped. "And I'm not allergic to onions."

Another, possibly younger, couple passed them in the market, shooting them bold, curious stares. His wife sighed, ducking out of sight behind a banana display. "I really don't like you right now."

Snapping the camcorder shut, Clint dropped the Nikon in his coat pocket; he supposed she'd suffered long enough. He poked her side as they strolled through the deli. "You don't _like_ me, but you love me, right?"

A pair of large, blue eyes bore a hole into him. "Yeah, sure." The words came out more as a sarcastic scoff and when she turned away from him, he quickly reached around her on either side and grabbed the shopping cart, trapping her against his chest. "G…"

"You're such a child," she rumbled, fighting a smile.

"A child that you…?"

"Tolerate. Honestly, I'm only using you for the mind-blowing sex."

"I'm flattered," he said, a lazy grin spreading over his face. "But I think there's more to it than that. Come on, out with it. I'm a child that you…? Georgia, just say it…I'm a child that you…?"

"Love!" she snapped. Her loud, random burst got more stares in one second than Clint's camera had the entire time they'd been in the store and her cheeks flamed crimson as she faced him. She swatted his chest, "You're a crazy, giant man-child that I love dearly in spite of your ridiculous antics and your obsession with that damn camera. I swear, if your team had any idea how ridiculous you truly ar-"

"Tasha knows," he murmured, swooping to place a quick, innocent kiss on her lips. "Well, kind of."

"Natasha does not count. I swear, you two have to be twins, you're so much alike. Twins just, you know, born like twelve years apart."

He nodded appreciatively. "Because that happens."

Georgia raised her eyebrows confidently and nodded, "True story."

With the Nikon politely put away, the couple continued their assault on the grocery store in peace. When they had everything they needed, they left the foods store and grabbed some donuts from a little bakery on their way out of the market. Clint's car was parked in a garage three blocks away and as they walked, Georgia nudged her husband's side. "Hey, don't forget my mom's sixtieth birthday party is next Friday."

"You know I'll be there as long as a mission doesn't pop up," said Clint.

He received a warning glare. "It better not."

"You know I can't control it, G."

"You are entitled to a day off every once in a while."

"No offense but if I call out of work I'd rather it be for something…" His eyes trailed down her body to rest on Georgia's ass. "A little more _fun_."

There was no missing Georgia's eye roll. "You have the sexual appetite of Hugh Hefner. Maybe even a little worse."

"Says the woman who only uses me for sex."

"Please, you know you love it," his wife scoffed. They were a block away from the garage now and Clint asked, "What do your parents think I do for a living, again?"

"Are you serious? You can remember dozens of access codes, memorize hundreds of faces and their corresponding names, and recite the S.H.I.E.L.D. policies and procedures handbook but you can't, for the life of you, remember one little lie you tells the in-laws." Georgia spoke to the streets of New York. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Mr. Clint Barton."

"Ha, ha," he chuckled dryly. "But, um, seriously, babe, what do I do?"

They finally reached the parking garage and as Clint loaded the brown grocery bags into the trunk, Georgia slipped silently into the passenger seat to crank up the engine and let the car warm up. Clint joined her when he was through and watched her fiddle with the radio. "G? Hello…?" His wife bit her lip and he snickered. "_You_ don't remember either."

"I do, too! I just…can't remember specifically. I know we told them you work with me at Stark Industries…I think."

Clint mused for a second. "Stark Industries…I can make it work."

Georgia gave a half-smile. "That whole master spy intelligence thing does come in handy, huh?"

_Sometime in 2015_

Clint couldn't recall much about his childhood. Mostly it was the insignificant stuff he remembered like the way his mother danced when she cooked and the constant bickering between him and his older brother. Clint's memory didn't lock in until his entire family was killed in a car accident when he was nine, the first time Clint walked away from a tragedy as the sole survivor. He remembered bouncing around from foster home to foster home after that, until the day he turned eighteen, dropped out of high school, and joined the army.

Unlike his childhood, he could perfectly recall every second of his career in the military. The sand permanently etched in the creases of his skin and beneath his fingernails. The blood fraternity that formed between him and his fellow soldiers. The feeling of a mortar round whizzing passed. The adrenaline of being under enemy fire. The seemingly endless games of pick-up football on base. The brutally unyielding weight of his first kill. The ridiculously fucking outrageous desert heat.

These memories burned away at the edges of Clint's mind. Sometimes when he went to sleep, he traveled back to that foreign desert where hunting hadjis was his favorite passed time. He'd go back to that distant but familiar place where he saw whole convoys of friends blown to hell; where he'd shot and killed countless, faceless men all for the sake of doing one's duty. That place where morals held no high ground.

Though his days in the army hardly compared to what he went through after S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited him, those were the days that Clint couldn't escape. He had been just a kid when he enlisted. He hadn't known shit about the world or life or what it meant to kill. When he dreamt about those days, he woke in a cold sweat, his hands shaking, instinctively reaching out for his bow. If he was at home, he'd make himself still and listen to Georgia's breathing beside him. He'd roll over, reach for her in the dark, and pull her close. He would gradually come back to the present.

Occasionally when this happened Georgia would wake up. She'd fold herself against him, somehow knowing what was wrong though he'd never admit it. She would whisper comforting words and stroke her hands softly across his back, shoulders, chest. She would let him hold her until the memories faded and his panic subsided. Then, she would run her fingers soothingly through his hair, lulling him back to sleep. She would do this every time without complaint.

_March 2__nd__, 2013_

"Popcorn?"

"No, I'm good."

"Soda? I've got Coca Cola and Dr. Pepper."

"Water's fine."

"Damn, you're lame. Have you ever had a movie night before? The entire point of staying in on a Saturday night to watch movies is to veg-out on junk food in your pajamas. We're talking candy, popcorn, chips, and chocolate covered everything. Sweat pants and hoodies accompanied by fuzzy socks. A cuddly couch and a kick ass selection of films. Seriously, did you have a childhood?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement. Clint watched from the fluffy confines of the couch as Georgia fluttered about the kitchen snagging all those goodies she'd just named off. "That stuff'll kill you, you know," he called as she popped an Oreo into her mouth. He saw her careless shrug, saw the way college hoodie rode up as she reached for the spray cheese on the top shelf in the pantry.

"Yeah, it might kill me one day," his girlfriend murmured as she finally joined him in the living room. "But I'll take my chances with a heart attack at age sixty. Whereas you and your band of merry men, risk death once a week."

"A Robin Hood joke. Clever. I almost didn't catch it."

She smirked. "I try. Now, what'll it be first, Ms. Evergreen? _Wet Hot American Summer _or_ Animal House."_

"Oh, I didn't realize we were having a porno-movie night."

"First off, both of these are American classics and neither one of them are…okay, well, I can see where you'd get the porno vibe from _Animal House_ but _American Summer_ no way. Except for the gay sex scene with Bradley Cooper and that one guy whose name I can never remember."

"Well, you just ruled out _American Summer, _so_ Animal House_ it is."

"Am I sensing a little homophobia here, Clint?" sniggered Georgia as she opened the DVD player. "You know it's not contagious."

"I'm not homophobic. The only reason I watched the fourth Harold and Kumar was because of Neil Patrick Harris. Talk about an American classic."

Georgia's eyes grew wide. "You like NPH? Clint, if you weren't already here, I'd be kidnapping you right now. I fucking love Neil Patrick Harris. I have seen every single episode of _How I Met Your Mother_ three times."

Clint's brow furrowed. "That is oddly specific."

"It's a wonderful show."

As the title credits began to play, Georgia snuggled into the couch beside Clint, his arm casually falling over her shoulders. He played with the strings of her hoodie. "What is this even about?"

"It's pretty much one of the funniest movies of all time about a college fraternity and the crazy shenanigans they pull. I think you'll be able to relate. There are several scenes that remind me of parties at Tony's apartment."

"Then I'm sure it'll be a riot," snorted Clint, who shook his head when Georgia offered him a handful of popcorn. The normalcy of the moment struck him as his girlfriend returned her attention to the television. He glanced around her living room in a slight manner of disbelief. This was so…_domestic_. The idea felt foreign on his thoughts, almost unnatural. But when Georgia shifted against him, her body pressing further into his own, he forced his attention on her.

"You're doing it again," she murmured, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile, her eyes never leaving the tv screen.

Clint grinned, "Sorry."

"I mean, I know I'm super fucking attractive and stuff, but this staring is starting to get a little ridiculous," she teased, playfully elbowing his ribs. With a loud laugh, Clint raised his hands in mock surrender, "I just…damn, G, I can't help myself."

"Wow, that almost sounded sincere!"

Clint's eyes trailed over her body. "Oh, it was."

Rolling her eyes at his cheesiness, his girlfriend asked sarcastically, "God, Clint, who taught you how to be such a smooth talker?"

"No one. Must come naturally," he shrugged.

"Oh, shut up, and watch the movie."

* * *

**In the next chapter, we'll go back to 2012 and pick up where we left off with Georgia and Clint after the Stark Industries gala. Expect lots of smut! **


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is out way sooner than I anticipated but it wouldn't leave me alone. Those of you stateside can consider it a present for MLK Day. As always, I hope that it makes you cry so much that people will think someone died and that it touches your heart so much that you feel compelled to name your first child Georgia. Just kidding, stupid spellcheck. I meant, as always, I hope you enjoy it. **

…**that was a bad joke. Anyway, ha, I hope you guys like it. Thank you **Not. So. Typical. Girl., miller330, **and** Dasiygirl95**. I'm thrilled you liked the last chapter and hope you like this one even more! **Dasiygirl95, **let me know if it lives up to your smutty standards! Also, **miller330, **I'm glad you liked his reaction; it was definitely fun to write! **

* * *

_November 29__th__, 2012_

Georgia wasn't really sure what to think, much less say, when she came home from work Thursday afternoon to find Clint standing outside her apartment door. Nearly two weeks had passed since the Stark Industries gala and she hadn't heard so much as a single word from her ridiculously attractive holy-fuck-I'll-never-be-satisfied-again one night stand. She fumbled with the keys in her grasp as Clint straightened and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I, uh…I don't know what I'm doing here," he admitted softly.

"It's kind of cold out here. Whatta you say we go inside and you can figure it out there," Georgia suggested, gesturing her door. A half-smile ghosted over Clint's flawless, American boy features and he nodded, following her into the cozy apartment. His eyes swept over the vaguely familiar living room and kitchen, his gaze lingering intensely on the island counter top. Two weeks ago they were having sex on that counter top.

Clint fiercely shook his head, as if to shake away the memory. He cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly by the door. Georgia seemed to notice and shot him a warm smile. "Make yourself comfortable," she instructed as she dropped her purse and keys onto the counter. Stripping off her coat, her heart fluttered when she caught him watching her. She tried not to ruffle her hair too much as she took off her scarf as well. "Would you like something to drink? I've got Coke, milk, and…uh, water. I don't entertain much."

He declined her offer and licked his lips as she joined him by the door. She grinned at him curiously. "So…you were just in the neighborhood?"

Clint scratched his right eyebrow. "Actually, no. I was nowhere near the neighborhood and I don't know why I just said that out loud."

Snickering, Georgia bit her lip, "_Oh_."

"Yeah." Clint groaned, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't hav-"

"No, you're fine! I'm starving. I had a meeting today that ran through lunch so I haven't eaten. I was thinking about ordering Chinese. Do you like Chinese?" asked Georgia. She hoped she didn't sound too eager for him to agree and simultaneously hoped that it didn't sound like a date. They'd slept together twice and now she wanted a date? Wait, why did that sound so backwards in her head?

But Clint just smiled, this amazing sort of sideways smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed a darling pair of hidden dimples that she hadn't noticed before. "I love Chinese," he said softly, almost gratefully.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang and when Georgia answered, Clint refused to let her pay and she pouted deliciously as he tipped the Chinese delivery guy. "But I asked you to dinner…"

Clint shrugged, stopping himself from running his thumb over her pouted bottom lip. "It's a guy thing."

"It's a douchebag thing," she countered. "When you invite someone to dinner, you pay."

"Next time."

Georgia spoke as she took the brown paper bag from him. "And will there be a next time?"

Clint sent her an honest smile. "I don't know. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

They ate straight from the cartons, curled up on opposite ends of her couch, the TV playing softly in the background. They talked about nonsensical things: the quality of the food; the latest Black Keys song (Clint had never heard of the band but Georgia assured him he'd love them, or at least she thought he would); the advantages of being an experienced bull fighter; the best type of dog to own (Clint voted Labrador, Georgia opted for a German Sheppard). They spoke like a pair of old friends, their conversation flowing easily in spite of the fact that they knew virtually nothing about one another. And when their cartons were empty, Clint helped her carry the trash to the kitchen. "I can't remember the last time I had dinner alone with a woman who wasn't wearing a gun."

Georgia erupted with laughter. "That's right! You're some secret soldier badass, aren't you? An _Avenger_."

"No, that's Steve. I'm just a regular soldier with a not so regular talent."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's this amazing talent?"

"You're a chick so I'm assuming you've seen the Hunger Games?"

"Ignoring the obvious sexism of that question, yes I have. Proceed."

"That's basically what I do. You know, the whole bow and arrow thing. Except instead of shooting children trapped in a giant invisible bubble, I shoot terrorist and usually do so under heavy gunfire while cars explode in the background."

It didn't occur to Clint that he probably shouldn't be telling her these things until after he said them. Though he saw no immediate danger in what he was doing, there was a nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded oddly like Tasha, chiding him and vividly describing all the ways in which this could go wrong. But then, right when Clint began to pull away, Georgia bit her bottom lip and sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter for support as she murmured, "That probably shouldn't be as much of a turn-on as it is. You were literally talking about shooting children and all I can picture is you in Robin Hood tights kicking ass and taking names."

"Tights? There are no tights."

Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "Oh, trust me, there are tights."

Clint couldn't fight the smirk overtaking his lips. He grumbled to himself, running his hand over his head and squeezing the back of his neck. "You are something else, G."

"I know…" She smiled softly before lifting herself onto the counter. Her feet swinging slightly, she gazed at him. "Why did you come here, Clint?"

He mulled over her question, trying out the taste of it on his tongue, and found that he honestly couldn't scrounge up an answer. He made a disconcerting noise in the back of his throat and lifted his left shoulder in a casual shrug, fumbling to form a complete sentence. "I, uh…I don't know…just sorta happened, I guess."

"Okay. Well, how long are you in New York for?"

"'Til Monday afternoon."

"In that case, you've got four days to kill. Whatever will you do to pass the time, I wonder…?"

Clint's chest seized. Her long legs, hidden by a pair of dark leggings, dangled over the edge of the counter and he fought the itch to run his hands up her smooth thighs. He swallowed gruffly. "Well, I've got a few ideas."

She slid forward on the counter, slipping off the edge and stumbling forward into his arms. Smoothing the shoulders of his leather jacket, Georgia murmured, "I'm listening…"

"I coul-" Georgia leaned forward, sensually placing her lips over his own and effectively silencing his words. She grinned against his mouth; he tasted like teriyaki chicken. She drew away a hair and confessed, her breath hot on his lips, "Sorry, I wasn't really listening."

"I'm okay with that," he grumbled, grabbing her hips and pushing her against the counter. Her soft curves met his lean muscle mercilessly and Clint suppressed a growl as he began a tactical assault on her mouth. She hummed happily, pleased by his ministrations, and trailed her fingertips along his jawline, curling her hand around the back of his head. She stroked the short hair at the nape of his neck and fiercely held him to her.

"Think we'll make it to the bedroom this time?" she whispered, dragging her lips across his suntanned skin to nibble on his earlobe. She flicked her tongue out to taste his flesh and felt him tense beneath her touch, "Not if you keep doing that."

She laughed in his ear and Clint drug his hands down her back, firmly taking hold of her ass, and lifting her into his arms. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him, one hand resting on his chest between them, the other remaining entwined in his hair. "Where's your room?"

She pulled back. "You don't know? We didn't go in there at all last time? _Huh_. It's at the end of the hall. And don't judge me, there are most likely huge piles of clothing in the floor as I try on an average of three outfits a morning before picking one."

"No judging," he promised with a chuckle. Her room was bigger than he anticipated and not as feminine as he pictured. Not that he'd been picturing her bedroom. Or her _in_ her bedroom. In her bed. Doing naughty things. Because he hadn't. There weren't as many personal touches in her private chambers as there were in the living room, or even the kitchen. Then again, as he carried her toward the bed he noticed a stack of card board boxes in the corner and reminded himself that she'd only moved in a few months before.

He placed her on the edge of the mattress and Georgia ran her hands down his chest. She popped open the buttons on his shirt, one after the other, kissing every inch of skin she exposed along the way until she was met with a belt buckle. Tilting her face toward his, she blinked innocently, her wide blue eyes shining beautifully with a live energy. She plastered on an exaggerated pout and tapped his belt. "Now that just won't do."

Clint's body steeled as she undid the buckle and pulled the belt free. "Much better," she murmured as she pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Cupping her face, he stroked his thumb across her cheek before pushing back and tangling his hand in her thick, dark hair. His grip tightened as she lowered his jeans, tugging them passed his hips until the material pooled around his ankles. As he stepped out of his pants, he pulled her upright and smashed his lips back onto hers. He was met with a throaty moan and felt his chest swell in pride. Damn right he'd made her moan. "You're wearing too many clothes," he rumbled, tearing his mouth from hers to pull her shirt over her head.

"Agreed," said Georgia breathlessly as she reached around to unclasp her bra. Her skirt and leggings shortly followed and soon they were naked and falling back onto her bed. Giggling, Georgia drew his mouth to hers, sucking in his lower lip, her tongue tracing the top one. Their hips met in an overwhelming frenzy of lust and desire, Georgia's back arching as he rubbed against her with a delectable friction. "Jesus, _Clint_."

"If I were a condom," murmured Clint as he bit his way down from her mouth and over her breasts. "…where would I be?"

"Right nightstand, top drawer. They're in an old jewelry box."

His body lifted from hers temporarily as he hunted for the ever elusive condom and Georgia shivered at the sudden lack of contact. "Whoa, hey, buddy. Hurry up, it's cold."

"I'm sorry," he scoffed. Propping up on his elbows, Clint hovered above her, one perfectly manicured yet somehow manly eyebrow raised. "We're literally naked in your bed and you're calling me buddy."

"Do you prefer pal?"

"I think I just prefer you moaning my name," he smirked.

Lifting off the pillows, Georgia pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. Then on his jaw. Then, finally, his lips, where she whispered, "If you want me moaning…you're gonna have to work for it."

Swiftly ripping open the wrapper, Clint freed the condom, slipping it on as he grinned, "I think I can handle that."

Challenge accepted.

* * *

"I can't feel anything below my ribs. This is ridiculous. I once ran a 10k in high school. Or, well, attempted to run a 10k. I passed out a mile from the finish line but even _then_ I could still feel my legs. What have you done to me?"

"You're welcome," was Clint's only remark as he slumped into the fluffy couch. Georgia fell limply on top of him, their legs tangled, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. It was Saturday morning and they'd just had sex for the fourth, no _fifth_, time that weekend. Though he would never say it to her face, Clint was just as exhausted as she was. His entire body ached and it kind of hurt when he breathed too deeply.

"Um, when did the TV get turned on?"

Clint lazily rolled his head to the side and squinted at the flat screen mounted above the wall unit. Some Saturday morning cartoon was on and he felt his face contort in pain. "People actually let their kids watch this stuff?"

"Apparently. Where's the remote?"

They felt around the remote for ten minutes before finally standing and finding it wedged between the couch cushions. Clicking off the television, Georgia turned and disappeared into her bedroom. Clint couldn't help but gaze longingly after her retreating form. And what a lovely form it was. Already he felt himself stirring once again and, grinning like a little kid, he sunk back into the couch and buried his face in his hands. What was she doing to him?

When she emerged, she was dressing in a pair of jogging shorts and a black tank top carrying a bundle of clothes in her hand. His clothes. She tossed something pink at him and walked passed. He held up the fleece garment. They were pink pajama pants. Bright pink with little snowflakes on them. He shot her an incredulous look, "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Wear them. I'm washing your clothes now and that's all I have that'll fit you. They have a drawstring, so, you know, adjust 'em."

"I am not wearing these. Thanks, though." He had a dignity to protect after all.

"Suit yourself." She returned from the laundry room a moment later and leaned against the couch, peering down at him with a silly smile. He was so naked and she kind of loved it. "You getting hungry yet?"

A cool stare raked over her body. Clint gave a wolfish, lopsided grin. "Starving."

Rolling her eyes, Georgia fought a giggle. "My God, you're insatiable. Allow me to rephrase: are you hungry for food? We ate the last of the pizza this morning. Or last night, depending on how you look at it." Sometime around three that morning, they'd woken up, grabbed the remaining slices of pizza, and watched a particularly hilarious rerun of _The Big Bang Theory_. Then, they'd had sex once more before falling back asleep.

"I could eat."

Georgia retrieved a handful of take-out menus from a drawer in the kitchen. She tossed them in his lap, the menus splaying across his groin like a fan. Smirking, she said, "Pick something. I'm going to jump in the shower."

He was tempted to join her but refrained. She was right. They'd been going at it like rabbits the last two days and their bodies could use a break. Clint flipped through the menus with a half-interest before tossing them onto the coffee table and standing to explore the room. This was the first time she'd really left him alone and as he inspected the photos lining the walls, he asked himself what he was doing here. Georgia was a nice, normal girl with a nice, normal life that held no place for him. Once again, he was reminded that what he was doing was wrong.

It wasn't that he was using her for sex; no, he was using her for something much more intimate. She represented everything he wanted out of life but couldn't have. She was the ultimate fantasy for someone like him. Guilt began clawing away at his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, silencing that nagging voice. He would leave. When this was over, he would leave her and never look back. He would let her get on with her normal life, find some nice smuck with a house on Lake Tahoe and a timeshare in the Hamptons, and they would get married and have babies and Clint would continue on with his duties. Because that's just how the world worked.

"Hey, did you decided what you wanted?"

Clint stilled at the sound of her voice. That was the second time she'd been able to sneak up on him. He turned slowly and smiled at her. "Yeah, that deli sounds good. Markus' or Marco's, whatever it was called."

"It's Marcel's and it's fabulous. One of the office aids and I eat there every day during the week. They have this chicken bacon Panini that is to die for. I would literally sell a kidney on the black market to buy one of their sandwiches. I'm not even kidding."

Chuckling, Clint snatched up the menu and skimmed it. "Well, don't sell your kidney just yet. We've still got some cash. How's the tuna?"

"You like tuna?" She sounded repulsed by the very idea but Clint just shrugged, "We ate it a lot at basic training."

"You were in the army?"

Clint blinked, a little uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah. For four years. Three tours."

Georgia nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. You don't just jump straight to super secret agent. Everybody's got to start somewhere." She suddenly grinned. "My sister would be so jealous right. She has a serious hang-up for military men. Particularly army and marines."

"And you? Do you share her preference?"

Georgia shrugged, teasing him. "Eh. They're okay."

As they Georgia placed their order, the phone angled between elbow and ear, the menu firmly in her hands, Clint slipped up behind her. Arms snaking around her waist, he pulled her flush against him and began to gently suckle the curve of skin where neck met shoulder. She wiggled against him, swallowing her laughter, and swatted at him playfully. But he persisted and when she hung up the phone, she dropped the menu and turned in his arms. "So distracting," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Couldn't resist."

They fooled around until the food arrived and then ate on the terrace of her apartment. Clint was now fully clothed, Georgia fishing his jeans, shirt, and boxers from the dryer. Yet again, Clint had refused to let her pay for the meal, muttering something sarcastic about paying her back for room and board. "This tuna is wonderful," he managed to grumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. Scooping up a dollop of tuna onto his finger, he held it out to her. "Wanna try?"

"Get that away from me, you disgusting creature."

He barked a laugh. "Oh, come on. Just try it."

"No, thank you. That shit is nasty as hell. Please, get it away from me." Her nose scrunched in distaste as she shrunk away from him. "Clint! Eeeew! It touched me! You nasty ass. That's just…that's just gross. Ugh. I need another shower now."

Bursting with laughter, his body shook as Clint said, "You're missing out," before popping his finger in his mouth and licking it clean. His actions were deliberately slow. He made sure to take his time licking off the tuna, his gaze unwavering. Clint internally smirked when he saw her eyes narrow, her legs crossing. She gave his foot a light kick beneath the table, "Now you're just being mean."

He gave a low chuckle and sheepishly wiped his hand on his jeans. "Sorry."

"Hey! None of that. I just washed those, you Neanderthal. Use a napkin. Geez."

"You know, you're very insulting when your feathers are ruffled."

"I'm not the one with feathers, _Hawk_," she snickered. He'd told her his codename Thursday night and had only that morning gotten her to cease with the Big Bird jokes. Wincing, he scolded himself, "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

"You might as well have handed me a personalized invitation to mock you."

The pair polished off their sandwiches just as the sun was beginning to fall from the sky. Reclining in the patio chair, Clint told her, "I'm not the biggest fan of the city but I have to admit, you've got quite the view."

"Thanks. The apartment was a bribe so I would accept the transfer to the New York office. I loved Los Angeles but…I mean, it's New York. Who could say no? Where are you from, by the way? You don't live here but you must have a place somewhere."

"I have a house in Reno."

"Hey, Vegas! I'm going to be super brash right now and invite myself to your place sometime this summer. I've never been to Las Vegas but I feel like I'm perfect for it. I'll lose all of my money in five seconds flat and then spend the rest of the night trying pitifully to win and/or con it back. It'll be like the Hangover three."

"Be my guest," Clint grinned. "But you realize Reno is approximately seven hours from Vegas, right?"

"What? I thought Reno was in Vegas's backyard. Well, that's inconvenient. Looks like I won't be visiting the home front after all. "

"It's nice to know you only want me because of my property value."

Georgia sighed. "It's all about location, baby."

"Baby? You're giving me petnames now. I thought it was too soon, but I guess I'm ready for it. What'll call you?"

"Hmmm," Georgia pondered for a moment, then stood. She pushed the screen door open and stepped back into the apartment, hooking a thumb inside the waistband of her shorts. "How about you call me…dessert?"

Clint's lower stomach tightened. Dessert. Now, he liked the sound of that.

* * *

**Thoughts?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Several of you have mentioned that a fight between Natasha and Georgia would be hilarious and I whole heartedly agree! I'm tinkering now, trying to figure out where that would best fit, but worry not. You'll see it eventually. In the next chapter, we'll get Clint's explanation on why he dropped off the grid for those five months in Chapter Two. **

**A major, huge, you're so ridiculously awesome shout-out to: **Not. So. Typical. Girl., Dasiygirl95, Hawkeyefan101, miller330, guest, **and **JohnnyStormsGirl. **I love you all. Seriously. Thanks so much for your lovely reviews! I'm thrilled you guys like this little experiment.**

**As always, mes amis, enjoy. **

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_December 23__rd__, 2012_

Clint stared into the half-empty glass in his hand for a good ten minutes before blinking and righting himself. He touched his cup to the window in front of him, the different glasses clinking as they met; it was a toast to the magnificent New York City skyline that stretched on for miles around Stark Tower, the shining lights of the skyscrapers mirroring the Christmas lights on the twelve foot tree in Tony's living room. Clint felt himself wishing he could break the window and fling himself outward, inflicting himself upon the city to escape all the Christmas cheer around him. It wasn't so much that Clint hated Christmas, because how can you hate something you don't really know? He could count on one hand the number of memorable Christmases he'd had and would still have enough fingers left for complicated finger puppets.

All around him, his friends, too blinded by their own holiday cheer, seemed oblivious to his underwhelming indifference. Tony stood, arms around Pepper, by the piano where Bruce was playing some Def Leppard ballad while Tony's friend Rhodey sang along loudly and a tad off-key. Tasha and Steve lingered by the Christmas tree, the spy running her fingers over the bristly branches. They were chatting softly, secret smiles flittering over Natasha's face every few seconds. Across the room, Thor was drinking eggnog at the bar with his girlfriend Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Jane's spunky, teenage assistant, Marcy. Or was it Darcy? The slight buzz of alcohol on Clint's mind blurred the minute detail of her name.

And then there was Clint and his glass and his window.

Tossing back the glass, he slipped behind the bar, smiling half-heartedly when Thor greeted him. The God of Thunder invited him to join them, boasting about the 'delightful Earth mead,' but Clint politely declined before fixing one last drink and excusing himself. He left Stark Tower without telling a soul where he was going.

Clint was halfway across town in less than twenty minutes. He stared at the already familiar apartment door wondering just what the fuck he was doing there. He'd told himself he wouldn't do this again. He was done with her. There was no way this could possibly end well and yet there he was without a single competent thought in his mind. In spite of this, Clint couldn't seem to stop himself from raising his hand and knocking softly on the door.

The hall was quiet and there was no sign of stirring from behind the door. He went to knock once more but his hand froze midair; he didn't want to wake her if she was asleep. Thankfully, just as he turned to leave, he heard the light patter of footsteps a moment later, followed by a shout of, "Who is it?"

"It's me," he called. Then added, "Clint."

He heard the lock turn. Then, the door swung open and he was instantly met with a warm smile. Georgia wore an LA Dodgers jersey that hung to the tops of her thigh, her hair dripping wet. She propped against the door, greeting him like an old friend, "Hey, you. What brings you to town? Another super secret ass-kicking mission?"

"Not quite," replied Clint as Georgia moved aside and allowed him to enter the apartment. "The holidays, actually. Tony's ha-"

"Oh, yes, his infamous Christmas party. Though I hear the guest list is a bit more selective this year," Georgia finished for him. She shrugged at his perplexed look, "I work a lot with Miss Potts. I hear things."

There came an awkward pause, a brief lapse were neither party was sure what to say. They had not exchanged numbers or emails and thus had not spoken since the third of that month, the morning Clint left for S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters after what was quite possibly the best weekend of his life. Four days locked in her apartment doing nothing but eating take-out, watching old movies, and having outrageous amounts of sex. Good sex. Clint sighed, "I hope I'm not intruding. I know it's Christmas time and, uh-"

"Oh, no, you're fine. My family isn't getting in until tomorrow. Are you staying?"

Her question surprised him. Clint cleared his throat, "Didn't realize I was invited."

"Always." She smiled easily at him and her comfort settled the unease in the room. That is, it settled Clint's unease considering that the blissfully normal girl before him seemed totally at peace. Georgia folded herself onto the couch and felt around for the remote. "I have no idea what's on. I just got out of the shower. If you're hungry there's some pasta in a pan on the stove."

"You know how to cook?" The inquiry wasn't meant maliciously, but Georgia shot him a glare nonetheless, "Yes, I know how to cook…I just don't like to that often. It's a lot of work to fix dinner for one person. But I've run out of ramen and the Chinese delivery guy is starting to learn my name so I figured that was a nice sign from the universe to give take-out a break for a while."

Muttering that he wasn't hungry, Clint slid out of his jacket and took a seat beside her on the couch and felt the muscles in his back and shoulders immediately relax. His feet propped up on the table, he slung an arm over the back of the couch and watched Georgia flick through the channels, completely undisturbed by his presence. He watched her carefully, "Something tells me you knew I'd be back."

She grinned, not sparing him a look, and shrugged. "You didn't give me reason to think otherwise." After four minutes of channel surfing, she tossed the remote in his lap with a groan, "I give up. Find something."

There was absolutely nothing on TV so Clint turned on Netflix and flipped through the horror movies. Georgia sniggered beside him. "Someone's got the holiday spirit."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Call me Mr. Scrooge."

Eventually, Clint selected one of the _Paranormal Activity _movies, after receiving Georgia's approval, of course. The credits of the movie began to roll, the sound quiet and eerie, effectively setting the movie's tone. Someone appeared on the television screen. There were a few lines of dialogue, exposition. It was a slow beginning and Clint struggled to keep his focus maintained on the movie. Every few minutes his eyes darted over to the woman beside him. They were so close on the couch that he could feel the heat from her body, but not close enough that they were touching. Why weren't they touching? And why was she so composed?

Clint shifted. "You seem very at ease with all this."

Georgia's brow furrowed. "The scary stuff hasn't even started yet…"

"That's not what I meant." He laughed, tugging at the tie around his neck. "I mean…_this. _Me."

"Well, how should I feel?" Her words were light, airy. Almost teasing. His stomached flipped. He licked his lips, "You're telling me you don't feel even a little morally compromised?"

The tanned planes of Georgia's face smoothed. Her mouth twitched upward, "I didn't peg you for the religious type."

Clint shrugged. "I'm not," he said honestly. "But I thought you might be."

"Can't say I am. Not overly anyway. I believe in God but I haven't been to church since I was eight and I don't pray as much as I should. But even if I was some overly religious, avid Bible reader, why should I feel guilty? We aren't hurting anyone. We're just having fun by having sex. Unless this is some kind of reverse psychology thing and _you _feel bad?"

"No, no. I just…" She was staring him down now, her body angled toward his. There was a playful grin on her face. Her utter lack of discomfort was unnerving and he abruptly grew very defensive. "Why are you so calm? You don't know me. I could be a serial killer."

A quick laugh burst from her, short and sweet. "Okay, buddy, calm down. You literally save the world for a living. Besides, I'm getting more of a serial rapist vibe. You're a total sex fiend."

Clint snorted. "You were more than willing, if memory serves me correctly."

"Maybe I'm a sex fiend, too," she murmured. Georgia was temporarily distracted by the movie, eyes widening as a shadowy figure crossed the screen and scared the soccer mom character. Forcing herself to look away from the television, she gazed him, biting her bottom lip. "Or maybe I just like the way it feels being with you."

Clint wasn't really sure what to say to that. What exactly did she expect from him?

"Look," she grinned, sensing his confusion. "We barely know each other, I don't even know your last name. Som-"

"You don't know my last name?" he cried. How many times had they slept together now? It was at least eight times that one weekend, maybe nine. Plus twice the night of the gala. And she didn't even know his full name? He knew hers! Georgia Lorene Downes. Born in the Tennessee Mountains and raised in Glendale, California just north of Los Angeles. Graduated from Boston College with a degree in Communications. This he knew thanks to a little tool he called The Background Check. With an indignant pout, Clint muttered, "Barton. My last name is Barton."

Georgia smirked. "Clint Barton. That's nice. It suits you."

"Thanks."

Running her hand through her wet hair, Georgia twisted her lips, trying to keep from laughing. "Umm…anyway, I like you, Clint. You're fun, easy to get along with. There are no pretenses with you. At least, I don't think there are. You don't bullshit and I love that. But if this is too much for you…"

He allowed his fingertips to graze her shoulder. The Dodgers jersey was a thick, cottony material. Warm. "It's not too much," he replied quietly. "But is it enough? I can't give you commitment. I can't tell you where I'll be tomorrow, much less next week."

"That's perfect. I have commitment issues," she told him, before adding, as if it were an explanation, "I'm too independent. I've never had a relationship that lasted longer than two months."

"I've never had a relationship." He leaned forward then, his finger slipping into her wet hair to draw her forward. Their mouths met roughly. The kiss was intense, unforgiving, and soon she was panting underneath him, his back arched, the horror movie still playing, forgotten in the background. She clawed at his shoulders, hips thrusting to meet his. "God, why didn't I know you in college? Four years of being very sexually unsatisfied and you've made up for it in the span of five days."

His ego swelling, Clint grinned against her skin. Her longs legs were wrapped around him, squeezing like a vice. A low growl brewed in the back of his throat. "And are you satisfied now?"

A teasing glint in her eyes, Georgia peered up at him, her chest heaving with hot, heavy breaths. "I don't know. I'll tell you in an hour."

Clint smirked. Challenge accepted. Again.

Several whimpers and once glorious scream later, they sank into the fluffy couch cushions, Georgia's back to his chest. Her hair, now semi-dry, was splayed across his skin. He picked up one of the dark locks, twisting it around his finger. It was almost the exact same color Natasha's hair used to be. He continued to play with her hair for a moment, but ceased when Georgia shivered against him, an aftershock of her orgasm. Smirking, he drew his mouth to her ear, huskily asked, "What's the verdict?"

"Satisfied." The word was airy, her heart still hammering in her chest, her legs still quaking from his powerful thrusts. "Very satisfied."

He nibbled her ear. "Good."

Georgia stared at the television screen, slightly dazed. "I think we missed the movie…wanna start it over?"

"Sure," he murmured, lips inching down her neck. These gentle kisses carried on for another few minutes or so before Clint felt his stomach began to rumble. He was hungry again, but this time not for sex. "I think I'll have some of that pasta, now."

Snickering, Georgia let him up and grabbed her jersey off of the table, thankful it hadn't knocked anything over when it was thrown from her body. She slipped the cozy shirt back on, running her fingers through her hair once again. "I'll be right back." She went to the bathroom, brushing her hair and peeing quickly. When she returned, Clint was back on the couch, a bowl of noodles in red sauce on his lap. He, too, had put his shirt back on and zipped his pants, though his tie and jacket remained discarded.

Halfway through their second attempt at watching _Paranormal Activity _a quick knock echoed through the apartment. Georgia met Clint's curious glance before checking the clock above the stove. It was nearly four a.m.. "I'm so popular tonight," muttered Georgia, eyebrows raised as she stood and crossed to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me! Who the hell else is going to be at your apartment at-oh, shit, it's late. Were you asleep? I'm sorry!"

"Allie?" murmured Georgia, yanking open the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I caught an early flight. I would've been here two hours ago but those idiots at LaGuardia lost my luggage." And suddenly, there was a younger, shorter version of Georgia bursting into the apartment dragging a large suitcase behind her and looking alarmingly alert for the late hour. Ripping off her gloves, the girl dropped her luggage behind the couch and rubbed her hands together, "Damn, it's cold in here. Wh-oh, um…there's a man on your couch. G, you have a man on your couch."

Clint cleared his throat and stood. "Hi. I'm, uh…"

"He's Clint," offered Georgia. "Clint, this is my little sister, Allie. Allie say hello."

Cocking a brow, the young woman shifted her weight and thrust a hand at him. "Hey."

He shook her hand politely and glanced at the door. "I'm, um, I should go."

"Oh, dude, don't let me interrupt. I can just…go in the bedroom for a couple of hours. Or if you'd like the bedroom I can-"

Georgia swiftly cut off her sister, "You can stop talking right now or I swear to God I'll kill you in your sleep."

"Close family," commented Clint with a soft laugh. He scratched the back of his head, reaching for his jacket and tie. "Really, Nat's probably getting ready to send out a search party right about now, anyway."

"Nat? Is that your wife? Serious girlfriend? Daughter?"

"Allie!" Georgia smacked the shit out of her little sister's arm, shoving her toward the bedroom. She growled and pointed menacingly, "_Go_."

Hands in the air, Allie giggled, slowly making her way toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Hope I didn't offend you, Clint. It was a long flight and I think I had one too many of those in-flight glasses of champagne. Goodnight. It was nice to meet you." She disappeared before he could reply.

Georgia hung her head. "I am so sorry. We don't let her out much, least she inflict unspeakable horrors on humanity."

Clint chuckled lowly. He had seen unspeakable horrors released on humanity. Her little sister wasn't even close. Fingers slipping into her hair, he pulled her to him, kissing her tenderly. Kissing her goodbye. She whimpered, responding by resting her hands on his chest, her thin fingers fisting in the silk material of his shirt. He swiped his tongue across her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open, and was not disappointed when she complied. She stroked his tongue with hers, lifting up onto her toes to give her better leverage. Her lips spread into a grin as they kissed; he tasted like spaghetti sauce.

Eventually, Clint, with a Herculean force, managed to pull himself away. Georgia fell to the flat of her feet and blinked up at him. He cupped her chin, running his finger over her pouty lips, red from his ministrations. "I'll, um…" He grinned, swooping to kiss her once more. It was quick and playful and when he drew back he stepped out into the hall. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he nodded, "I'll see you later."

She drew her teeth across her bottom lip, arms crossing as she leaning against the door frame. "Okay. See ya then…and Clint? Be safe out there, okay? I've seen the Bourne movies and Matt Damon gets his ass kicked at least twice in every single one. Don't be Matt Damon."

Clint snorted. "G, you insult me. I'm _much_ better than Matt Damon."

"Whatever you say, Treadstone."

And then he was gone.

_October 5__th__, 2013_

She heard the clicks of his overly expensive, Italian shoes on the tile floor only moments before Tony Stark popped his head inside her office. "Afternoon, Ms. Downes. Lovely space you've got here. There's a nice feng shui thing going on. I like it."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?"

"Oh, nothing. Just came by for a visit." He dropped into a chair in front of her desk, kicking his feet up. Georgia glared at the soles of his leather shoes, "Not to be rude but I'm a little busy. Can we-"

"I happen to have it on good authority that your boss won't mind you taking a break. In fact, he highly encourages it."

The pen in Georgia's hand paused. "Oh, that's cute. You think you're my boss."

Tony blinked. "Uh, I am."

She let her pen fall between her fingers, the reports momentarily forgotten, and fixed him with a gentle but stern look. "No, Pepper Potts is my boss. You're just the pretty face of this company whose bank account gets a little bit lighter every time your girlfriend signs my check."

In true Tony fashion, he replied without missing a beat. "You think I'm pretty? How pretty are we talking, like Brad Pitt pretty or more of a George Clooney thing?"

"What do you want, Tony? I really am working."

Dropping his feet, the Iron Man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Truthfully? I came by to see if you needed some socks."

Georgia subconsciously glanced at her feet. She half expected to see them bare, her boots and socks mysteriously vanished. Thankfully, her boots where there, her toes warm within them. She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, even for you that's strange. What do you want?"

Tony's jaw twitched, as if fighting a smirk. He cleared his throat, running his finger over the name plate on her desk. "I want to make sure you aren't getting cold feet about the whole Mrs. Barton deal."

There was no missing the way Georgia's shoulder automatically tensed. She said, low, "If you're here to try and talk me out of marrying Clint, you're wasting your time."

His gaze narrowed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling someone's already tried. Tell me, who was it? Fury, maybe? Didn't want his best man getting distracted. Or was it the good ole Captain? Don't think I didn't notice how chummy you two were at the Halloween party. Oh, wait, I know…" Tony's voice dropped low. He studied her for a moment, almost as if out of respect, nodding, "It was Agent Romanoff."

"Natasha's very protective of him," was Georgia's only reply.

* * *

**Review! You know you want to! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Sooo…it's been three months since I've updated. I know, I'm awful. In my defense, work and school have been grueling. Still, there's no excuse. I only hope that because this chapter is a little long you'll forgive me!**

**Thank you guys so much for your patience! I love you all dearly! Thanks also for your kind reviews and for sticking with this story. For those of you who are new to the fic, welcome aboard! We're glad to have you.**

**This one picks up right after Chapter 2 – that's the one where Clint goes missing for five months. It's kinda smutty and, as always, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_September 5__th__, 2015_

Five months was entirely too long for Georgia and Clint to go without seeing one another. Three months was too long to go without speaking. And four days was too long to go not knowing if her husband was alive or not.

Her fingers tightened in his hair. It was so much longer than when he'd left, almost boy band length now. She arched against him, whimpering, whining, practically on the verge of tears. They'd been making love for the last seven hours now, passionately trying to get back some of that lost time, and Georgia found herself incapable of forming a rational thought passed: _He's home. He's alive. He's home. He's alive. He's hom-_

"Fuck, G." The words were growled, a steady hum in the back of Clint's throat accompanying them. He attacked her neck and collar and breasts and stomach with his lips, teeth, tongue. He wanted her all around him, wanted to feel her undeniable softness, wanted to smell only the sweetness of her tanned skin. Hips grinding together, they came one final time before collapsing back on their bed, a sweaty tangle of limbs.

All was silent in their bedroom for several moments before Clint's quiet whisper split the air. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Georgia's breathless reply came a moment later as her fingers intertwined with his, "You should be. Where were you, Clint? What happened?"

Clint's arms tightened around his wife. Eyes clamping shut, he burrowed his face further into her neck and the soft curls of her hair. He breathed her in and his lips parted, the explanation spilling from his mouth like a confession. "I was never lost."

Georgia tensed. "_What?_"

"Let me explain," Clint immediately muttered, anxious to stop Georgia's hasty anger. "Two months into the job I was forced to cease all contact. With you, with S.H.I.E.L.D., with everyone outside of my cover."

"What was the job? Can you say?"

"I was…infiltrating a very powerful organization in southeast Asia." His answered was vague. But it was the best reply he could give and Georgia knew that. She nodded for him to continue. "I was able to get involved with the group pretty quickly but soon enough they grew suspicious. I was being followed everywhere I went. They monitored all contact I had. If I spoke to a man at a food cart, he was kidnapped the next day and interrogated. Fury knew it wasn't worth the risk keeping in touch."

"Oh my God, so you weren't really missing at all? Fury knew where you were?" gasp Georgia. She turned to face him in his arms, her slender fingers cupping his prickly cheek. "So they pulled you out of an active job? What'll happen?"

"The mission will be scraped. We'll take the intell I gathered and go from there. They might send in another agent in a year or so…anything sooner would be suicide."

"Will you be in trouble…? And that…_organization_…they won't come looking for you?"

"They'll assume that I was a spy or that I was killed. They'll look for a while, double up their security, and eventually I'll be forgotten about."

"You sure about that?"

Clint gave a half-shrug. "We'll see."

"You can't honestly already be making jokes about this…I'm…fuck, Clint, I thought you were-" Georgia cut herself off, her chest tightening with that familiar sting of pain and panic. He was fine. _He's home. He's alive. _

Guilt slapped Clint clear across the face and his eyes stung at the thought of the pain she'd gone through. He couldn't imagine, couldn't fathom, not knowing if she were safe or not. Simply knowing if she was alive. Once more, his hold on her increased and he kissed her firmly. "I know. I'm sorry, G; I'm so sorry."

She wanted to be angry, but it wasn't right taking her anguish out on him. He was simply doing his job. She knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. would always be his home, that this was the type of life he would always lead. She'd known that from the beginning. How could she hold that against him now? So, she wanted to be mad at Fury. But, then, Fury only ceased contact to keep Clint safe.

Groaning, Georgia cradled her face in her hands, twisting to burrow into Clint's chest. "I'm just glad you're safe and home and I can touch you and feel that you're really here."

Clint's arms became a steel cage around her, his thigh resting between her legs against her moist heat. Five months without her…what had he been thinking? Five months without feeling her lips, her breasts, her gentle caress? Five months without seeing her smile. Then, three months without even hearing her voice. It had been hard. And distracting. But the thought that she was waiting for him was enough to push him through. But she was right, it didn't matter now. He was home and, as he held her in his arms, he was finally at peace for the first time in nearly half a year.

Distraught from so many nights apart, Clint and Georgia found a long missed solace in each other's embrace. They made love two more times that night before hunger set in. Georgia stroked Clint's scruffy cheek, the stubble familiar to her fingertips, ignoring the gnawing hunger in her stomach. "I don't wanna leave the bed…"

Clint drew back the covers, preparing to swing a leg off the side, "So don't. I'll cook us som-"

"Absolutely not." She yanked him back down. Throwing her leg over his own, she captured his torso in her arms and spoke into his chest, her voice muffled, "You aren't going anywhere. Ever again. _Ever_."

Clint brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder. "Ever? Not even to shower?"

"No, not without me."

He kissed her forehead, reaching for his cell phone on the nightstand. "Deal." Hugging her to his chest, he dialed their favorite Chinese place, having memorized the number a month after knowing Georgia, and ordered them take-out. They ate in bed, naked and entangled, and once her appetite for food was sated, Georgia set out to try and satisfy her appetite for her husband. She kissed the inside of his wrist, his fingers lightly brushing her temple. Her lips peppered a path of kisses up his arm until she reached the words tattooed on the inside of his left bicep. Kissing each word, she smiled to herself. They'd only been married seven months when he got the tattoo…

_July 29__th__, 2014_

"Clint, what are we doing here? Oh, God, it's like the beginning to a bad horror movie," groaned Georgia as she clutched tightly at her husband's arm. They were walking through one of the less than friendly back neighborhoods of Brooklyn, nothing but alleys, stray cats, and dirty hobos sleeping against dumpsters. Georgia's gaze darted around the deserted streets just waiting for something to jump out. She knew Clint could handle himself, even without his trusty bow and arrow, but defending himself against a masked mugger with a gun while simultaneously trying to protect her?

They stopped outside of a two story brick building with a broken fire escape and a half-lit neon sign reading "Ink 54".

Georgia's eyes narrowed. "You must be joking."

Clint shot her his perfectly crooked smile. "Afraid not."

The tattoo parlor was vacant when they entered save for a teenage girl with purple hair and tattooed sleeves on both arms. She was leaning over the register popping bright pink bubble gum and reading a magazine. She barely glanced up when they entered but shouted over her shoulder, "Tido! They're here!"

"Please tell me you're not getting tattooed by jailbait?" Georgia whispered. "She looks like she's an extra in a Quentin Tarantino film."

Chuckling, Clint shook his head, slipping an arm around her waist. "No. I'm getting a tattoo from her older brother, Tido."

"You are not getting a tattoo. I refuse to believe it."

"Believe it, G."

"Why would you bring me? You _know_ how I feel about needles."

There came an indistinguishable shout from the back and suddenly a large, bald man appeared through the hanging red curtains. He, too, was covered head to toe in tattoos and also sported a lip ring. He extended his hand to Clint. "You must be the guy that called earlier. Hey, man, I'm Tido. That's Aimee. Welcome. You have your sketch?"

Clint pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He passed it to the tattoo artist. Tido eyed the paper and commented, "Song lyrics, nice. Where you want 'em?"

Georgia snorted. "I'm sorry, song lyrics? What are you a sixteen year old girl?"

Her husband's face contorted in mock hurt. "They're meaningful."

"What's the song? I'll kill you if it's something stupid like _Sweet Cherry Pie_. May I see that?" The tattoo artist handed her the paper. A slow, shy smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she read the lyrics twice. "_Still in peaceful dreams I see, The road leads back to you_…that sounds so familiar. What's the song?"

It was the tattoo artist who responded, "It's a song by Ray Charles. It's called _Georgia on My Mind_."

Clint smiled softly at his wife, a tad bashful, and mumbled, "Like I said…it's meaningful."

Georgia returned the paper to the tattoo artist, her stomach fluttering lightly, and she followed when the bald man led Clint to a room in the back. She wrung her hands nervously as Clint took off his jacket and fell into a seat. "If you're doing this for me, don't," she murmured, despite the fact that she was very much so flattered by the clever idea.

"I'm not," Clint murmured. "I'm doing it for me."

"But why?" she persisted, biting her lip. "You've never mentioned getting a tattoo before. Clint, this is going to be on your body for the _rest_ of your life."

"Hey, man, if you aren't sur-" began Tido but Clint held up his hand, "I'm sure."

Georgia stood at Clint's side as the tattoo artist cleaned the skin on the inside of Clint's left bicep, shaving the area with a thin razor. He was going to get the lyrics written in two lines in a slanted script. They would be about four inches long and as Tido began to stencil the tattoo on a thin piece of wax paper, preparing to transfer the imprint to Clint's skin, Georgia's stomach churned. "Please don't do this. I think I'm going to pass out…"

Clint took her hand in his, grazing his thumb across her knuckles, "Baby, you'll be fine."

Tido paused and glanced at the couple. He gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Hey, you wanna grab you a chair from the next room? Sitting down might help your nerves out."

Georgia did as he suggested, pulling her chair right next to Clint's, her side to the tattoo artist. "I can't watch," she murmured. "Are you _really _sure? I mean, it's a beautiful gesture and I'm touched but there's no way Fury's going to be okay with this."

"It _would _be a beautiful gesture if I were doing it for you. But I'm not. G, I want to do this. When I…" Clint trailed off, his gaze shifting sideways at Tido. He sent his wife a meaningful stare. "When I'm…out of town on my business trips…"

_You mean when you're saving the world as a usually undercover super secret bad ass? _She thought, fighting a grin.

"When I'm gone, I miss you, G. And that's what keeps me going most of the time, knowing that the sooner I get the job done, the sooner I can get back to you." Clint squeezed her hand and gave a tight smile. He looked at the half-stenciled words on his arm and licked his lips thoughtfully, "It'll be a constant reminder of what I have waiting for me at home."

"But won't it compromise your…um, uniform?" Georgia knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. preferred it when their agents didn't have tattoos. But it wasn't just tattoos; the agency frowned upon piercings and unusual birthmarks or scars, anything that was easily identifiable and risked blowing an agents cover.

"That's part of the perks of being on the team," smirked Clint, referring to his position as an Avenger. "The rules don't really apply with me. Not anymore."

_September 6__th__, 2016 _

He woke to a loud but lazy knock on the door of their apartment. Blinking hard, he squeezed the bridge of his nose and wiped the remnants of sleep from the corners of his eyes. His wife was curled into his side, her dark hair splayed across his arm and the pillow. Again, there came a knock. This time it was followed immediately by a shout, "Hey, Mrs. Barton!"

Removing himself from the bed, careful not to wake Georgia, Clint answered the door to find Calvin, the kid from Fed Ex, standing in their doorway. The kid tugged on his baseball cap. "Oh, hey, Mr. B. Didn't know you were back in town. If you could just sign…"

Clint signed the packing slip and took the flat, rectangular box from him. "What's this?"

Calvin shrugged a single shoulder. "Dunno, but that's the third one this month."

Weighing the packing in his hand, Cling thanked Calvin and closed the door. He tossed the packing receipt aside and ripped open the box. The mystery item was wrapped in two sheets of bubble wrap. Peeling the wrapping away, Clint realized he was holding a canvas. The wooden frame was supporting a stretched portrait of him and Georgia. He recognized the photo instantly. Georgia had taken the picture on her phone the night he'd proposed. A sentimental smile lifted his lips and he grazed the canvas where the sun was setting on the beach behind them.

He proposed to Georgia in late September 2013. One weekend, he'd asked her to take a trip with him and refused to tell her where they were going or what for. Blind to their destination, Georgia put her faith in him and climbed aboard the private aircraft Clint had borrowed from S.H.I.E.L.D. He took her to Greece to a little, secluded beach in the Aegean. To say that Georgia had been blown away would be a gross understatement. When he'd asked her to go away with him, she expected a weekend in the Hamptons or maybe the mountains somewhere, but never did it cross her mind that she was being taken out of the country. He'd packed them a picnic and after frolicking for hours in the crystal blue waters, he'd popped the question. She'd said yes immediately.

Clint took the canvas over to the mantle beneath their TV in the living room. He cleared a spot on the mantle, moving aside a few candles, and propped the photo up front and center. He took a minute, then, to look around his home. It had been five months since he'd set foot in his home and he took a brief tour, re-familiarizing himself with their home and noting the few subtle changes Georgia had made while he'd been gone.

There was a new rug on the terrace, a few new potted plants as well. His wife had also rearranged the end tables in the living room and a new toaster sat on the kitchen counter. She'd bought another throw, a deep burgundy blanket, that she'd draped over the back of the couch. Then, finally, he spotted the other two packages Calvin had mentioned. Hanging above the kitchen table was another portrait of him and Georgia. This one had been taken the day of their wedding. In the photo, her arms were around his neck, her flowers in her hand, and he was kissing her cheek. Both were wide-eyed and smiling. The other photo was one of him, Georgia, and Natasha at a costume party Tony threw last year. It hung in the front hall by the door next to a sign that read "Friends May Come and Go, But You Can't Get Rid of Family".

The changes were minimal and there were none he disagreed with, but the sight of these differences pained him. He hated that he'd been gone long enough for these changes to occur.

With a sigh, Clint trudged back to their bedroom to see Georgia still sound asleep. They'd gotten to bed late, sometime after three that morning, and as it was just after nine a.m., he knew she would remain sleeping for another two or three hours if left undisturbed. He stood at the foot of their bed for several long moments. His eyes trailed over his wife's body, memorizing the soft curve of her shoulders, the slender dip of her back, and, of course, her long, gorgeous legs he loved so much. He would've been content to stand there for eternity, but a ringing phone drew his attention.

"Hey, Nat."

"Clint," the Widow's tone was light, almost casual. But Natasha Romaoff was not one for small talk.

"I'm fine, Nat. You don't have to call and check up."

"It's not you I'm checking up on."

Clint's chest tightened. "She hasn't cried since we left the Helicarrier. She's…she's good."

"She's strong," replied Natasha. "I'm sure you two still need some alone time, but Stark's got it in his head that she's throwing you a welcome home diner tomorrow at the Tower. Think you guys can come if G's up to it?"

"Sort of defeats the purpose if we don't show, right?"

"Basically."

Clint smirked. "We'll be there."

And with that, he clicked the end button and slid his phone back onto the nightstand. Once more, Clint rubbed the sleep from his eyes, running his hand through his hair, and gazed longingly at his wife. Suddenly getting an idea, he dressed quickly in a simple pair of dark jeans, a black shirt, and his boots. Snagging his wallet off the dresser, he pocketed his keys and grabbed his sunglasses. He took a second to kiss Georgia's cheek goodbye before disappearing into the kitchen.

He snatched the grocery pad off the fridge and scribbled a quick note. Then, he was gone.

* * *

She was running furiously, her legs pumping as if her life depended on it. But she didn't exactly know where she was running to, or what she was running from. Georgia only knew that she needed to keep running. She could feel the imminent danger, feel the desperate need propelling her body forward. She could feel it in the hairs that were raised on her arms and in the sweat dripping from her brow.

That's when she saw him.

"Clint!"

Pushing herself even harder, Georgia ignored the ache in her lungs and legs, frantically attempting to reach her husband. Then, just as she came upon him, he vanished. "Clint!"

Georgia shot up in bed, her heart racing. "_Shit_." It had only been a dream. She ran a shaky hand through her hair and turned to find the bed empty beside her. She touched the mattress where her husband should lay. "Clint?"

She checked their bathroom but that, too, was empty, before slipping on a bathrobe and searching the remainder of the apartment. Unfortunately, Clint was nowhere to be found. Panic began to rise within her and she did her best to calm the nasty, swelling emotion. "Think rationally, G," she told herself.

Georgia snagged her purse off their bathroom counter, fishing for her cellphone. She hit speeddail number one. Not five seconds after the ringing began in her ear, did she hear Clint's ringtone for her – AC/DC's _You Shook Me All Night Long_. Dashing into the bedroom, she spotted his cell on the nightstand by the bed. "Fuck."

Before she allowed herself to freak out, she did the next best thing she knew to do and called the Black Widow. Natasha picked up on the first ring. "I see someone finally woke up. Afternoon, G."

"Do you know where Clint is?"

"He's not there? I just spoke to him an hour ago."

"What'd he say?"

"I was extending an invite to a welcome home dinner at Tony's tomorrow. The way he spoke I assumed he was home."

Georgia's throat tightened. "When I fell asleep, he was." It was a bad omen that Tasha didn't know where Clint was either. There were few things that the Widow didn't know and those few things usually didn't involve Clint. She knew that man inside and out; in some ways, she knew him even better than Georgia. "Tasha, what do I do?"

"First off, don't assume that something's wrong," advised the famed assassin.

"But why wouldn't he have told me where he was going? Why would he just leave? You know that's not like him. Besides, his phone is still here."

"I'll run face recognition around your block. Maybe he stepped out fo-"

Georgia froze as she heard the front door open. Clint entered the apartment, two large, white, paper sacks in hand. "Oh, thank God," Georgia sighed with relief. "Natasha, he's here. He just walked in. I'll call you back."

"Go easy on him."

"That's unlikely," Georgia replied, snapping her phone shut and tossing it carelessly aside. She stormed into the kitchen. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Placing the bags on the counter, Clint rounded on his wife with a charming smile. "Hey, you're up." He reached for her but she slapped his hand away, her face drawn in anger, "G, what's..?"

"Why the fuck didn't you let me know you were leaving? After everything that's just happened, you're gonna up and leave while I'm asleep? What the fuck, Clint?"

Clint's face crumbled. "Well, I-"

"And why didn't you at least take your phone? Or leave a note? Christ, I thought something might've happened. And then Tasha didn't know where you were and just…I mean, what the actual fuck?"

Sheepishly, Clint walked over to the bar and picked up a ripped piece of yellow paper. He held it out to her. "I did leave a note."

_G, _

_Go back to sleep. I'll be home with breakfast soon. I love you._

_-Clint_

Georgia read his words twice, each one like a slap in the face, her skin flaming red from embarrassment. "I didn't…I didn't see it."

"I'm sorry," said Clint softly. He slowly took her in his arms and cradled firmly to his chest. "You just looked so peaceful this morning. I didn't want to wake you. I assumed I'd be back before you woke up."

"No, you're fine. I'm sorry…I just, I panicked."

Clint cupped her face, his gaze piercing. His thumbs swept over the tops of her pink cheeks. "That's understandable. Next time I'll wake you, peacefulness and rest be damned."

Georgia gave a shaky, half-hearted laugh. "Or at the very least take your phone."

Clint nodded in agreement. "That, too."

Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his own. Her fingers stroked the sandy blonde hair at the nape of his neck while he playfully caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping softly. His hands found the tie of her robe and made swift work of loosening the knot. Her cover fell open and Clint's hands began to explore the smooth planes of her bare stomach. Trapping her against the counter, his hands trailed down her hips to grip the backs of her thighs and hoist her up. Her lean legs wrapped around his waist and, as their lips continued their work, he carried her easily to their bedroom. Laying her atop the mountain of pillows at the head of their bed, he drew back and licked his lips. His breathing was heavy, a smirk twisting his mouth. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Georgia mirrored his grin. "Breakfast in bed?"

"_Naked _breakfast in bed."

Georgia's eyebrows rose. She motioned her bare body. "Well, I'm naked. Catch up."

Kicking off his boots, Clint peeled his shirt over his head. He gave a wicked grin. "You know I love it when you're bossy."

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**I would **_love _**to have naked breakfast in bed with Clint Barton. Wouldn't you, ladies? **

**Review and tell me what you think! Or, tell me want to you want to see next! **


	9. Chapter 9

**The second half of ****this chapter was written in response to a request from the wonderful **MME, **who wanted to see another scene with the camera. She also wanted to see some more of Tony's snark. I hope this does you justice, my friend.**

**A major thanks to everyone who has reviewed and to those who have stuck with this story despite the ridiculous wait time. As always, I hope you all enjoy!**

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_February 6__th__, 2013_

Clint truly hated the windiness of New York City, great gusts of winds bursting over the city carried in off the Atlantic. As he trudged down the city street toward Georgia's apartment, his hands tucked stiffly in his pockets, his hood pulled over his head, he cursed at the chill biting his skin. Still, the winds were nothing compared to the freezing blizzards he'd had to face during a handful of missions in Russia – one of which resulted in the successful sway of the Black Widow from an assassin-for-hire to a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset.

Eventually reaching his destination, Clint pulled himself off memory lane and sought refuge inside the heated apartment building.

He'd been seeing Georgia on and off for nearly four months now, dropping by her home whenever he had some down time between missions. And the longer he knew her, the more she continued to amaze him. Georgia was incredibly accepting of their casual arrangement and was often the one initiating sex. Smirking, Clint drew to a stop as he reached her door. He rapped his knuckles twice. He waited a brief moment but no reply came. He knocked once more, calling, "Hey, G. It's me." But still there was no answer.

Sporting a frown, Clint checked his watch. It was ten-thirty on a Wednesday night; she had work the next morning and Clint knew that Georgia wasn't one to stay out late when she had work the following day. He lingered another moment, then withdrew his cell and called her phone. The call rang three times, then went to voicemail.

Suspicion tickled the back of his throat. He briefly debated breaking into her apartment but decided to take things slow and trace her phone first. He called a friend of his back at headquarters. "Benji, it's Barton. I need you to run a sat-track for me."

The quirky British tech replied instantly, eager to help. "Sure thing. What's the number?"

As Clint rattled away with Georgia's cell number, he could hear the Brit typing away. Benji made a few ticking noises, clacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and muttered, "Right, okay, looks like we've got a lock. Coordinates forty-one north, seventy-five west. Looks like the signals coming from downtown Manhattan."

"That's Stark Tower."

There came a short silence and the Brit asked, "Do you need back-up? Want me to call in a team?"

"No, no," muttered Clint quickly. "It's not a threat. She, um, she works there. Thanks, Benji."

"Anytime, Hawk. Honestly, anytime. It's so boring around here. I swear if I have to run one more-well, anyway, you don't want to hear about it. S'boring stuff. Have fun in the field, mate. Wish I was there with you."

Rolling his eyes, Clint replied, "Yeah, it's loads of fun. Just be thankful that no one's shooting at you while you're behind your computer desk."

The tech snorted, "Like you don't love the action."

Another minute or two of their banter passed before Clint hung up and caught a cab back to Stark Tower. He knew that Georgia worked in public relations but wasn't sure where her office was. He also wasn't sure if he was crossing some imaginary boundary of the "relationship". Guess it didn't matter; the second the cab parked outside the massive beacon of Stark, he tossed a few crumpled bills into the driver's hand and trekked inside. At the front desk in the lobby, the night shift security guard recognized him and stood. "Mr. Barton, Mr. Stark is upstairs if…?"

"I'm not here to see Tony. I was actually wondering if you could help me out."

"Absolutely, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a woman who works here. Georgia Downes."

"Yes, sir, Ms. Downes is head of the PR department."

"You wouldn't happened to know where her office is located?"

Returning to his seat behind the desk, the guard tapped a few keys and nodded, "Twenty-second floor, office one-eighteen."

He found her office easily but the door was locked and once again his knock was met with no reply. Growing frustrated, he was one step away from having Tony pull the security footage when he heard laughing down the hall. Turning the corner, the assassin found a very modern, glass conference room. The lights were on, the door open, a handful of yuppie-looking business types scattered about the room. A stack of pizza boxes sat on the table surrounded by half-empty two liters of Coke and Styrofoam cups. Two young women sat on the end of the table, their legs dangling over the edge as they listened to a man at the front of the room speak. He was gesturing to a portable white board where a pie chart had been drawn. Across from the women, another guy leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, absently fiddling with his tie. The pie chart guy muttered something and the room erupted in giggles once again.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened down the hall and a tall brunette in a tight pencil skirt and cream blouse emerged, drying her hands on a paper towel. She started when she saw him, pausing. A slow smile curved her mouth. "Are you stalking me now, Clint? I thought your duty was to protect innocent civilians, not follow them."

"You are far from innocent, G," he grinned. Finally, he'd found her. "You weren't home so…"

Georgia snickered, "We'll have to get you a key made. Anyway, well, come on. I'll wrap things up in here and we can head out."

Clint surrendered his hands. "Don't let me rush you."

Her eyes rolled and she suppressed a groan. "Please, we've been ready to go since eight but we're having this big charity event in two weeks and it's been a mad house around here."

They left the office shortly after Clint found her. Georgia's arm around Clint's waist, she was tucked into his side seeking shelter from the bitter cold as they strolled down the still-buzzing streets of Manhattan toward the subway. Clint eyed the bodies shuffling to and fro and shook his head, "Go home. It's midnight. How are there still this many people out?"

"It's not called the City That Goes to Bed at Nine," teased Georgia. They took the subway to a stop just outside of Chinatown, dipping in to a twenty-four hour Dunkin Donuts. They ordered some coffee, picked out a few donuts, and slid into a booth by the corner window. Swishing her white chocolate mocha in her hand, Georgia eyed her companion coyly across the table. "Okay, Clint, we've known each other for…what? Few months now? And I still don't know anything concrete about you."

Clint scoffed, "How can you say that?" Georgia knew more about him than most people.

"Yeah, so what I know you're super secret identity? Lots of people know that. And, okay, I know what positions you like in bed and that you are ridiculously sensitive around your ears. And I know what foods you like and what TV shows you watch but I don't know any of the facts. I don't know your middle name. Or where you were born."

"Some people would say that what you know is what counts," murmured Clint, tilting back his cup to gaze at its murky contents.

"I'm not some people," she shrugged. Taking a slow sip of her coffee, she cursed under her breath that it was still hot, and continued, "Sorry if I'm being nosy but I'm a naturally curious person. Besides, it's only fair. You know tons of shit about me. You've even met my sister twice now."

"On accident. That doesn't count."

"Whatever."

Chuckling, Clint nodded, "Fine, fine. What do you want to know?"

"Middle name."

Clint swift cut his head at her. "Nope. Not happenin'. Next."

A wide grin split Georgia's face. "Oh, it must be bad. Ha! Should I guess? Willard? Maybe Ludwig? Clinton Ludwig Barton. Yes! That's definitely it."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not funny, nor are you close."

"Okay, fine. I'll learn that later. Where you from, Clint?"

"Waverly, Iowa."

Georgia smiled appreciatively. "A straight answer. Thank you. Um…did you go to college?"

"No. I, uh, I didn't even finish high school. Dropped out the end of my junior year and joined the military."

Georgia knew surprise was written all over her face at his unexpected reply. He hadn't finished high school? Clint was by far one of the smartest people she knew. But he wasn't just an intelligent thinker, he just _knew _things all the time. She picked up a chocolate glazed donut from the small box between them. Nibbling off a small bite, she licked her lips and asked, "Can I ask about your family?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched and his grip on his coffee cup flexed. His gaze moved passed her shoulder at the Dunkin Donuts staff, bored and lounging around the shop that was vacant save for them. It wasn't that Clint didn't want her to know about his family; he simply didn't like talking about it. He didn't like _thinking _about it. Thinking made him remember and remembering made him feel. Fingering the rim of his cup, Clint spoke quietly, almost to himself, "My dad's name was Harold, but we called him Frank. My mom was Edith. My brother, Charlie, was older by three years. He was my best friend, like you and Allie, only with more punching…they died in a car accident when I was nine. They were coming back from Charlie's Little League game. I, uh, I wasn't with them. I was at my grandmother's. I'd been feeling sick that night and, well…that's that."

Georgia wanted to reach over and take his hand in hers but she wasn't sure if that would make him feel uncomfortable or not. Biting her lip, she offered a frown, "Clint, I'm…I can't imagine not having my family, especially my mom. You must be really brave and really strong."

Clint swallowed and offered a quick, forced smile. "You're very kind to say that, G, and I feel like it really would've touched me, were I not distracted by the chocolate icing on your chin."

"What?" Georgia hesitantly touched her chin. "Where?"

Clint smirked. He pointed. "Right there."

Georgia swiped at the chocolate covering the lower half of her face. "Oh, piss. Well, that's embarrassing."

_April 18__th__, 2016_

Bruce approached the marker for home plate like a skittish animal. The steel bat hung loosely in his grip and he winced as he raised it, preparing to swing.

"Bend your knees a little," advised Georgia, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted over the wind. "It'll help your body naturally follow through when you swing."

The doctor did as she suggested, his grasp on the bat flexing. "I can't do this. When other kids were playing baseball, I was busy at the science fair."

"No worries, buddy. Everybody can play baseball. I'm sure Rogers even played it before he got all super-juiced up. Right, Cap?" Tony smirked, though no one could see it behind his Iron Man face. Fully donned in his suit, Stark hovered in the air behind third base. Like him, Thor was hovering behind first base. Steve, who ignored Tony's jab, was on the ground. Err, Helicarrier. He stood twenty yards behind Georgia, ready to pounce. Natasha sat on the "sidelines" watching the affair with an amused boredom. Her partner stood beside her, his beloved Nikon poised to capture all the action. Grinning, he cheered on his teammate. "Alright, Banner! You got this!"

Georgia waited for the doctor to give a reluctant nod before curling her arm back, her left leg rising just so as she shifted her weight. Then, her arm abruptly shot forward like a coiled spring let free. The baseball soared through the air and with a resonating _thwack! _the bat and ball met. Stunned, Bruce stood stock-still, the bat clattering out of his grasp, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. Clint screamed, "Run, Bruce!"

Blinking back to life, the doctor turned on his heels and took off.

He'd hit the ball toward what was supposed to be right field, the small white sphere flying too high for the Captain to reach and toward Thor. The Asgardian caught the ball easily, proudly chuckling and hoisting the baseball high like a trophy. With it being so easy for Thor and Tony to catch the hits, the team wasn't counting that as an out. The only way to score an out was by tagging the batter. Being from another world, Thor wasn't too familiar with the rules of the All-American passed time in spite of a breakdown of the game from Tony and Clint. He held on to the ball, continuing to thrust it into the air like his hammer as Bruce rounded on third base. Giving his boosters a kick, Tony zoomed over to the God of Thunder and snatched the ball from his teammate. He waved the baseball in Thor's face. "You gotta throw it! God, you're killing me, Smalls."

Jetting downward, Tony made a beeline for his best friend, who was mere steps from the home plate. "Oh, no you don't. Jarvis."

"Sir?"

"Give it all we got."

Iron Man's back up boosters roared to life and he shot forward, arm extended with the ball pointing straight for Bruce's back. However, just seconds before Tony was able to clip Bruce's shoulder, his friend pulled an old trick, dropping to his side to slide into home.

"Hell yeah!" Clint shouted, the camera jolting as he pumped his fist into the air. Spinning on Natasha, he thrust the camcorder in her face. "Did you see that? Did you _see_ that? Our boy's growing up."

The Black Widow pointedly stared at the Nikon's lens. "You have approximately three seconds to get that out of my face before I take it and shove it up yo-"

Shaking his head, Clint tisked his partner. "Stop being such a spoil sport, Tasha. Let yourself have some fun…" He trailed off as a panting Bruce jogged over. Clapping his back, Clint complimented the doc. "Hey, man, that was awesome. Great job."

"Thanks," Bruce gave a bright smiled that quickly dissolved into a grimace. He clutched his side. "It hurts to breathe."

"Why don't you take it easy for a minute? Here, you can take over for me." Clint handed Bruce his prized Nikon and Bruce sank down beside Natasha. He carefully cradled the camcorder. The Widow smirked, Clint replacing Steve in the field now that the Captain was up for bat, and muttered in Bruce's ear. "Don't drop it. You might wake up one morning with an arrow in your throat."

"Ten years ago that statement would've frightened me," replied Bruce honestly. Natasha's brow rose. "And now?"

"Now, I just trust the other guy to spit it out."

As Clint jogged to his position in the so called field – really it was just a piece of yellow tape they'd stuck to the top of the Helicarrier – he passed Georgia and slapped her playfully on the ass, earning him a playful glare.

Stark barked from above, "Hey, Barton, none of that. It's time for your Game Face," to which Clint promptly responded by giving the billionaire the middle finger. Tony scoffed, "How original. The Bird Man shooting me the bird. Not very clever, Tweety."

"Jealousy isn't a flattering color on you, Tony," hollered Bruce in Clint's defense. "Why don't you save being a green monster for me, huh?"

As expected with Captain America batting, the game rose to a whole new level, his super strength sending the ball soaring well passed Tony and Thor. Unsurprisingly, he earned himself a home run. Now, it was Clint's turn to bat. Hawkeye sauntered towards the home plate, the steel bat abandoned a few feet away. Georgia smirked teasingly as she caught the ball, Tony finally retrieving it and tossing it to her. She called to her husband, "I'd sure hate to have to follow the Capt'in."

But Clint merely flexed his arms, knowing they were one of Georgia's major weaknesses. As a skilled archer, Clint's arms were one of his best features, all smooth and taunt muscle. "You of all people should know how well I can hit it, G."

The tips of her ears turning pink, Georgia fought a smiled and reared back, the baseball clutched tightly. Thor grinned from above, "Now, this I know. Friendly competition between a man and his wife. Often on Asgard we-"

"Yeah, yeah. Save it, E.T.," Tony swiftly cut him off. "We've got a game to win."

Thor neglected to point out to his metal friend that no one was keeping score and instead focused his eyes on the assassin at bat. Below, Bruce zoomed out the focus on the Nikon, "This outta be good."

Georgia's breathing slowed, her arm tense and ready to strike. But, right as she prepared to release, a young S.H.I.L.E.D. agent appeared. "Dr. Banner, you have a phone call."

On the field, the game paused. Bruce glanced up. "Oh, uh, alright. Thanks." He offered the Nikon to the Widow. "Take over for me?"

As if it was a gross injustice to her, Natasha unwillingly accepted the camcorder with a scrunched face. Bruce shot her a small smile. "Don't drop it."

"Hey, Cody Banks!" Tony called to the young agent. "Who's calling? Is it the Pentagon, again? Look, tell Jerold it's okay he cancelled poker night. We'll just have drinks at his Saturday, yeah? Or maybe-" Stark dipped down, hovering just inches above the Helicarrier, "-it's that little blonde number from the other night calling. What was her name? Mandy? Or was it Candy?"

"Her name was Veronica and it's not her," Bruce replied.

"Now, now, Brucey, you never know."

"Brucey?" snickered Natasha.

Banner rolled his eyes. "Actually, I do know, because I never gave her my number."

Gasping in shock, Tony went to chide his friend but Jarvis interrupted, "Sir, Mrs. Barton is about to pitch." Sure enough, the second Jarvis spoke, Georgia's arm shot forward, sending the baseball flying. Cursing, "Son of a bitch," Stark whipped back into position and watched Clint's body gracefully pivot, bat and ball colliding with a glorious _crack! _

Unlike Bruce who'd simply had beginner's luck, or Steve who'd relied on his brute strength, Clint was methodical in his approached. He knew Tony or Thor could catch anything he'd hit their way and tag him out in a second. He also knew that Steve was a quick runner, whose leaps and bounds were _quite literally _leap and bounds. So, he found the precise angle to twist his body and the steel bat to strike the baseball and send it gliding off to the side, between Steve on the ground and their friends in the air.

Unfortunately, his perfect hit sent the baseball soaring right toward Bruce and the young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

The baseball struck Bruce smack dab in the back of his head, sending the doctor to his knees.

"Oh, _shit_," hissed Clint, his comrades drawing short, their eyes wide.

"You can say that again," muttered Natasha as she zoomed the Nikon out of focus, the camcorder trained on Bruce's shaking form.

And then everything kinda went green after that.

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**Disclaimer: There was a special guest appearance from the British tech Benji. He was stolen from the **Mission Impossible **series. I just loved the chemistry between Benji and **Jeremy Renner's **character in **Ghost Protocol** so much that I couldn't resist!**

**Let me know what you think!**


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